


Shuuji to Chikara

by FrameofMind



Category: 47 Ronin (2013), Nobuta wo Produce
Genre: M/M
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2014-10-16
Updated: 2014-10-16
Packaged: 2018-02-21 09:12:54
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: No Archive Warnings Apply
Chapters: 1
Words: 22,460
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/2462774
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/FrameofMind/pseuds/FrameofMind
Summary: <blockquote class="userstuff">
              <p>He’s left his hometown behind. The cell phone doesn’t ring as often, but he gets an occasional postcard. The only enemies at his heels are bosses with paperwork. So far, chasing the future isn’t quite the thrill ride Shuuji had hoped for in his youth.</p>
            </blockquote>





	Shuuji to Chikara

**Author's Note:**

> Title: Shuuji to Chikara  
> Pairing: Kiritani Shuuji / Oishi Chikara  
> Rating: PG-13  
> Genres: Romance/Humor, Fantasy/Adventure  
> Word Count: ~22,700  
> Warnings: Muddling of a classic work of Japanese literature. (For practical reasons, including but not limited to the author’s ignorance, in this story the movie version of 47 Ronin is being treated more or less as historical/literary canon. Sort of.)  
> Summary: He’s left his hometown behind. The cell phone doesn’t ring as often, but he gets an occasional postcard. The only enemies at his heels are bosses with paperwork. So far, chasing the future isn’t quite the thrill ride Shuuji had hoped for in his youth.  
> A/N: This was written for silentflutter for the Drama Character challenge at amigo_santa. The pairing turned out to be a little but more of a challenge than I expected, but I think it worked out pretty well in the end... ;)
> 
> Many thanks to dori_liv, who betaed this on a moment’s notice when I was up against the deadline. You're awesome, dear! ;)

It’s a long walk up to the third floor, especially at the end of the day.  
  
Why did he rent a third floor walkup anyway? Why not a ground floor or at least a second floor? When the building manager first showed him the place he’d been charmed by the view over the tiny little park out back, imagined himself sitting on a stool on the narrow balcony with his coffee cup in the mornings and easing into the day. He’s pretty sure he hasn’t opened the balcony door more than twice since the day he moved in a year and a half ago. And usually just to air out the place after a late-night cooking disaster.  
  
It’s dark already. How does it get dark so quickly? There was still a bit of light left when he left the office, but that was gone by the time he got on the train. He should have been off early today, but his supervisor caught three mistakes he had missed in the proposal he’d been proofing, and he’d ended up splitting his time throughout the afternoon reproofing it and running all the errands people kept piling on his desk.  
  
Something catches his toe as he reaches the third floor landing, and there’s a familiar clatter as a load of takeout containers and mangled tunafish cans tumble out of one of the plastic bags perched against the wall. Stupid jerk at the end of the hall again—seriously needs to learn how to actually use the trash chutes, rather than leaving booby traps around for everybody else. Shuuji grumbles to himself and sets his briefcase and the small stack of mail in his hand to the side to start picking up the mess, sorting the contents of the bag properly into the slots, and throwing the remainder into the burnable trash chute. Then he picks up his briefcase again and lets himself into his apartment, closing the door behind him.  
  
The mail is mostly bills. He drops a few ads straight into the recycling, leaves the bills on the kitchen counter to deal with later. There’s a picture postcard from Akira—a photo of the Taj Mahal with a cartoonish pig sticker stuck onto it giving him a V-sign. Shuuji smiles at it as he flips it over.  
  
 _India is amazing—you should’ve come with us!!! Nobuta wants to take sitar lessons from some guy in the park…_  
  
 _Kon kon,_  
  
 _Akira_  
  
 _P.S. Hi, Shuuji. I hope you’re well. The people here are lovely. See you next time we’re in Tokyo. Best, Nobuta_  
  
He pins the postcard to the front of the refrigerator with a magnet, along with others from Shanghai, New York, Rome, Cairo. If he squints and tilts his head, he can almost imagine himself there with them, wandering cobblestoned streets aimlessly and finding life everywhere.  
  
At the moment, he seems to have misplaced his.  
  
He makes a frozen curry for dinner and eats it at his computer, finishing up the proofreading. After he’s cleaned up, he goes back to his briefcase for the file on the Nakamura project. He promised he’d still have it finished by tomorrow, even though he had to redo the proofing, because it’s no good if they get behind, and he definitely doesn’t want to be responsible for another upset client. That thing last month with the blueprints he delivered to the wrong department sort of put him on probation—it took them two weeks to figure out where they’d ended up.  
  
Shit. It’s not here.  
  
He blinks up, staring around the room just in case he’s pulled it out already and just forgotten. Checks under the stack of mail, in the recycling in case he threw it out with the junk. All over his desk, in the drawers, under the magazines on the coffee table where he had his dinner. It’s definitely not here.  
  
He turns in a circle, scratching at his hair, trying to retrace his steps. He definitely had it this afternoon, because he was in the middle of working on it when the boss brought the report back to him for a second pass. He put it aside to work on the report. Is it at the office then? Did he just forget to pack it? No, that can’t be it, because he had it later at the job site when he was dropping off the revisions, they asked to see the original specs again and he…  
  
Shit.  
  
 _Shiiiit_.  
  
It’s still there. He doesn’t remember touching it after that.  
  
He throws on a jacket over his t-shirt and jeans, jams his feet into boots and doesn’t bother to lace them up. Just grabs his keys and wallet off the table by the door and dashes out. It’s pretty late, but it’s not midnight yet. There’s got to be somebody still there—at least somebody who can let him in.  
  
Normally he would take the train, but he springs for a cab this time, just to be safe. He tells the guy to wait for him—he’ll only be ten minutes at the most—and jogs over to the gate in the high fence around the construction site. There’s no light on in the pedestrian lobby, but there’s one on in the little box beside the vehicle entrance. He mounts the steps and knocks on the window, startling the slightly balding security guard from his web browsing.  
  
The guy gives him a curious look, but slides his chair over and opens the little slot at the bottom of the window.  
  
“Hi,” Shuuji says, fumbling for his wallet, slightly out of breath. “Sorry, my name is Kiritani Shuuji—I work for Acorp, the architectural firm that designed the building.” He fishes out his ID badge and passes it through the narrow gap. “I was here earlier this afternoon, and I left an important file behind. Please, can I get in just for a few minutes? I know right where it is. It would only take a second.”  
  
There’s a little frown as the guy looks from the badge to Shuuji’s face. “Yeah, I remember you,” he says, though he still seems reluctant to actually let him in. He looks up at a clock overhead. “There’s no one left in the office though—I’d have to go with you.”  
  
“Could you?” Shuuji says hopefully, giving a little pleading bow. “It would really help me out. I promise I wouldn’t be long.”  
  
“Well…if you’re sure it would only take a moment.”  
  
Shuuji thanks the man profusely as he retrieves his keys from the desk and lets Shuuji into the booth. They cross to the door on the other side, which opens into the work site. “Here,” the man says, putting on a bright yellow hardhat from the shelf and offering another to Shuuji. “Regulations.”  
  
Shuuji nods and puts the hat on, following the guard out the door.  
  
The office is on the other side of the work site. They stay well away from the building’s foundation, and have to take a bit of a meandering path to keep at a safe distance from the piles of steel girders and palates of building materials. There’s very little light here at night, and Shuuji sticks close to the beam of the security guard’s flashlight to avoid stumbling into an unseen pit or piece of machinery.  
  
Finally they reach the small temporary structure that houses the onsite offices, and the Security guard lets them in and turns on the light. As promised, it only takes Shuuji a couple of minutes to locate the file—it’s right where he left it, on the table where he met with the foreman. He clutches it against his chest in relief and returns to the door, nodding his thanks.  
  
It feels even darker than before when the lights are off again. Shuuji stands off to the side a bit, keeping out of the way while the security guard locks the door behind them and punches in the alarm code.  
  
One advantage of the darkness is he can actually see the stars a bit. The ambient light of the city drowns them out at the edges, but right now they’re far enough from the center of town and the nearest streetlights that he can see quite a nice array of them, right overhead. He breathes in the fresh, cool night air, and then lets it out again slowly. So much space. It even makes the tunafish cans less annoying, for a little while.  
  
When he drops his gaze back to earth, he notices another light somewhere in the distance. Just for a moment, like a flashlight winking between the piles of building materials, there and then gone. But he’s sure he saw something.  
  
“Um,” he says, “are you sure there’s nobody else here?”  
  
“Nope,” the guard confirms as he finishes with the code and hooks his keys back on his belt. “Everyone checked out. The guy who makes the night rounds doesn’t get in until midnight. Why?”  
  
“Nothing,” Shuuji replies with a little shake of his head, offering a sheepish smile. “Just thought I saw something. But it was nothing, probably just a reflection of the moon or something.”  
  
They’ve only walked about ten yards from the office when Shuuji sees it again—that little flicker, somewhere in the distance between the looming shadows. But it’s not a plain white light like a flashlight, he realizes this time—there’s an odd pinkish-purple halo around it. And it doesn’t move like a flashlight either, jerking and bouncing with footsteps. It’s like it just sort of pulses to life and then out again in the same exact spot, like the light from a lighthouse.  
  
Shuuji almost walks into the guard when he stops abruptly in front of him.  
  
“Uh…did you see that?” the guy says. He sounds like he’s trying to be brave, but Shuuji suspects he didn’t exactly sign up for a night security job because he was big on excitement. And he’s already had one unexpected visitor tonight.  
  
“You saw it too?”  
  
He hears the guy swallow, sees him nod. “Stick close, okay?” the guard instructs. “It’s probably nothing.”  
  
They move quite a bit more slowly after that, both staring around into the shadows, searching for the light. It’s hard to even tell how far away it was, or if it was even in the same place as the first time Shuuji saw it—but there are a limited number of safe places to walk through this area in the pitch dark, and all they can do is keep moving forward.  
  
Shuuji nearly jumps when he sees another light appear in the corner of his vision—but he gulps a sigh when he realizes it’s just the glow from inside the security booth. Only another thirty yards to go.  
  
There’s a sudden flash right in front of them, and the security guard screams and stumbles backward. Shuuji drops the file and grabs onto his sleeve just to keep them both from tripping over each other’s feet. There’s wind whipping at his face, a highpitched ringing in his ears, and he can barely even squint at the thing, it’s so bright. They stumble back against a huge pile of two-by-fours covered with a tarp, and there’s nowhere else to run that won’t take them closer to the thing.  
  
“What the hell is that?” the guard yells over the noise, and even so Shuuji can barely hear him.  
  
“I have no idea!”  
  
It’s huge, this glowing orb, some three or four feet across, hovering in midair at just slightly above their heads. It’s white hot at the center, but a corona of colorful energy crackles around it, radiating outward, and it’s getting brighter, the ringing louder, and Shuuji can  _feel_  it pulling at him, like he’s a lightning rod in a storm. He can feel the pulse of it under his skin.  
  
“No!” he shouts, and instinctively shoves the guard off to the side just as the energy bursts forth, an electric beam heading straight for his heart.  
  
A thud, a pulse white hot that rockets through every vein in his body, and then nothing.  
  
*      *      *  
  
It’s damp.  
  
It smells like soil, grass and leaves. Rain. The damp soaks into the back of his shirt, cooling his shoulders. He aches everywhere, especially his head where it hit the ground, but it feels soft too. The ground. There are birds and the air smells fresh, like in the countryside after the first spring rain.  
  
Someone touches his face, and he flinches awake, scrambling back, heart racing. Blinking.  
  
He’s in a forest. He doesn’t remember being in a forest. And there’s some guy there kneeling nearby, looking almost as startled as he is. He can’t be much older than Shuuji is, his dark hair swept back from his striking face, but he’s dressed in very old fashioned clothing, a dark kosode and a cross-gartered kobakama, and—is that a  _daishou_?  
  
The man blinks at him for a moment. Then seems to realize that Shuuji is staring at the pair of swords tucked in his belt, and he removes them. Sets them carefully aside.  
  
“I’m not going to hurt you,” the man says.  
  
Shuuji gives a little nod. Swallows. “Good.”  
  
“Actually,” now he looks a bit sheepish, mouth twitching toward a smile, “I sort of thought you were already dead.”  
  
Shuuji nods again. Where the hell is this? Who is this guy? Last thing he remembers…  
  
“Um, can you tell me where I am?”  
  
“You’re in the forest, about thirty yards from the river.”  
  
“I know I’m in a forest,” Shuuji grumbles, trying to keep his patience. The guy is only trying to help. It’s not his fault Shuuji’s brain has gone all freaky on him.  
  
Well. Probably not, anyway. Hell, it could be, for all Shuuji knows.  
  
“I mean where in general,” Shuuji clarifies. “What town? What province?”  
  
The man gives a little nod of understanding. “You’re just outside Shingetsu no mura, in the western part of Musashi no kuni.”  
  
Shuuji blinks at him. “Musashi? Uh…can you give that to me in modern terms? I didn’t pay as much attention as I should have in history class.”  
  
“Modern terms?” the man looks perplexed. And that is not a good feeling right there.  
  
“Yeah. Like, how far am I from Tokyo?”  
  
The frown only grows more incredulous. “Tokyo?”  
  
That’s…not a good sign. That is really not a good sign. He knows there are some rather provincial locales still tucked away in certain parts of the country, but surely even the most remote old hermit has heard of Tokyo.  
  
“Yeah,” Shuuji swallows, trying to keep a lid on the little niggle of panic stirring in his gut. “Tokyo. You know, like…the capitol? Of the country?”  
  
They are definitely in Japan, right? They’re communicating in Japanese, and the guy is wearing Japanese clothes, even if they are a bit out of date. And the place names were Japanese too. Even if they too were…a little out of date.  
  
God, his head is really starting to hurt.  
  
The man tilts his head slightly, and his expression seems a bit sympathetic, like he’s talking to a small child. Or maybe just a grown man with an increasingly evident head injury. “Do you mean Kyoto?”  
  
Shuuji shakes his head quickly, and now he’s really trying not to panic. “No, not Kyoto,  _Tokyo_. The  _cap_ —”  
  
He stops.  
  
Blinks.  
  
Glances down again at the old fashioned clothes, worn like the real thing, and not for some festival. The  _really_  old fashioned sandals that look like they’ve been on the road at least a month or two past their limit. The pair of very real-looking swords that would definitely get him arrested if he were spotted wearing them in public. At least where Shuuji comes from.  
  
“What year is it?” he asks, dreading the answer.  
  
The man looks a little bit worried too, though Shuuji suspects it’s just because he thinks Shuuji might be completely nuts. And Shuuji thinks he might be right.  
  
“It’s the seventh year of Houei.”  
  
The seventh year of—what? Shuuji’s knowledge of the historical calendar is about as spotty as his historical geography, but he remembers that one, that was the one that came right after Genroku, and if it’s seven years in that must make it about…1710.  
  
Holy shit.  
  
He can’t breathe.  
  
“Are you okay?” the man says as Shuuji’s head throbs again. But Shuuji can barely hear him. Everything is swimming, the damp and the cool forest air and bright lights in the darkness. And then it all winks and shudders and he feels himself falling again.  
  
Shuuji passes out.  
  
*      *      *  
  
It’s dark again when he wakes the second time. Light flickers from somewhere off to the side. A campfire, he realizes when he squints over at it. It warms the air around him, reflecting off the dusty walls of the cave. He’s lying on something a little bit drier and softer this time—a reed mat of some kind—and there’s a blanket draped over him. No, not a blanket, he realizes as he plucks at it a bit and finds a patched and threadbare sleeve. A kosode.  
  
He’s not wearing any shoes, he realizes, wiggling toes inside his socks. As he sits up, he sees that someone has taken off his boots and placed them neatly off to the side, near the entrance to the cave. There’s not much else here besides the fire, though a small traveling sack is sitting over in the corner, a folded bundle wrapped in a neatly tied furoshiki.  
  
“You’re awake.”  
  
Shuuji turns toward the cave entrance. It’s that guy again, ducking a bit so as not to hit his head where the ceiling is a bit lower near the door. He’s got something slung over his shoulder—another furoshiki, looks like, but much smaller than the first.  
  
“How are you feeling?” he asks as he crosses to the bundle near the wall and starts sorting through whatever he’s brought back.  
  
“I’m…okay,” Shuuji replies. And his head actually does feel better, though he’s still not any closer to figuring out exactly where he is and how he got here. Other than the fact that he appears to have traveled through time, but he’s still not totally ready to confront the magnitude of that prospect just yet. “Thanks.”  
  
“Sorry to leave you alone,” the man says, and he seems to be preparing a pot of water for the fire, producing a small cooking set and a canteen from the larger of the bundles. He removes the swords from his belt and places them aside as he kneels by the fire. “I would have taken you to the inn, but it’s kind of a walk—I wasn’t sure it was a good idea for me to carry you that far. Anyway, I…I can’t really pay anyone.”  
  
Shuuji glances down at the carefully mended spare kosode the man has him using as a blanket, and thinks yeah. Probably not. “It’s okay,” he says. “I’m fine. Thank you for your help.”  
  
The man glances up at him a bit uncertainly. Then there’s that little smile again, and he nods, returning his attention to the cooking pot.  
  
“I did get some rice though. If you’re hungry. It shouldn’t take long.” He indicates the little bundle sitting at his knee.  
  
Yeah. Wow, now that he mentions it…it must have been hours since Shuuji last ate. Or centuries, depending on how you’re counting. “I am. Thank you.”  
  
He pulls the kosode up over his shoulders a bit. He’s still got his jacket on over his t-shirt, but it’s a pretty light one, and the cave mouth seems to sort of line up a draft. The fire helps though.  
  
“If you don’t mind my asking,” the man says, “what should I call you?”  
  
“Kiritani,” Shuuji replies, rubbing one hand over the shoulder nearest the door a little for warmth. “Kiritani Shuuji.”  
  
The man blinks at him in surprise. Actually, he looks a bit wary all of a sudden. “You have a surname?”  
  
Oh. Right. Um…that. “You can just call me Shuuji if you want,” he offers, dodging the real question. Because he can’t sit here pretending to be some kind of nobleman, and the time-travel thing…he’s still not really ready to think about that. “It’s fine.”  
  
The man looks like he wants to ask him something else—but then he stops himself, just nods instead. Goes back to work.  
  
Actually, it’s a good question, come to think of it.  
  
“What should I call you?” Shuuji asks.  
  
The man’s shoulders tense a little bit, but only for a moment. Then they loosen again.  
  
“You can call me Chikara,” he replies, still looking at the pot as he carefully measures out the rice.  
  
Chikara. Cool. That’ll be easy to remember.  
  
Shuuji lies back down again on his side, resting his head on one arm as he watches Chikara work. Once he’s set the rice to boiling, he produces a small pouch of dried food and sets out a few pieces, folding the rest away. He’s very careful, and very quiet. Shuuji can see sword callouses on his palms sometimes in the firelight, but there’s something soft about him too. Something that doesn’t quite match the rough living he’s apparently accustomed to.  
  
When the rice is done, Shuuji moves to join Chikara closer to the fire. Chikara distributes the dried food evenly between the two of them, but Shuuji can’t help but notice that he dishes Shuuji a slightly larger portion of the rice.  
  
Shuuji nods his head awkwardly as he accepts the rice bowl with both hands. “Itadakimasu.” It’s hot and good, and he has to stop himself from wolfing down the whole thing in a few short bites. The dried food turns out to be fish, and it’s not bad, though it doesn’t exactly taste like what he’s used to. Still, it fills his stomach, and it goes down well with the rice.  
  
“Can I ask you what happened?” Shuuji says, picking at the last of his meal. “I mean, how you found me?”  
  
Chikara nods over a bite of fish, swallowing it down. “Sure. I can tell you what I saw, though…I guess I was hoping  _you_  could tell me what happened. I’m not really sure.”  
  
He catches Chikara eyeing the worn-through knee of his blue jeans. When Chikara notices, he gives a little apologetic smile and returns his attention to his food.  
  
“I was tracking a youkai,” Chikara says scooping up another mouthful of rice with his chopsticks.  
  
Shuuji stares at him. “Excuse me?”  
  
“It’s been attacking the villagers,” Chikara explains, misidentifying the source of Shuuji’s confusion. “I was just passing through, and they asked for my help. I’m not a trained demon-slayer or anything, but I have…some experience. So I told them I could do it.”  
  
Shuuji nods vaguely, still hung up on the “youkai” thing. Maybe he’s not the only one in this cave who’s a little bit crazy…  
  
“Took me three days to corner it,” Chikara says with a little sigh, slumping to rest his elbows on his knees and his rice bowl in his lap. “When I caught up with it in that clearing, I really thought I had it—but then there was this huge flash,” he motions with his hands over the fire, like he’s holding an invisible globe, or an expanding universe between his palms, “almost like it came from inside the thing, or something. I had to duck behind a tree to get out of the way, and when I got up again I saw you lying on the ground on the other side of the clearing. I thought you were one of the villagers. The thing was only there for another second or two, and then there was another little glow and it sort of twisted in space and disappeared.”  
  
He purses his lips in consternation and slumps again, poking at the last few grains of his rice. “It’ll probably be harder to find this time. Now it knows I’m looking for it.”  
  
Shuuji cups his empty bowl between both hands and runs a thumb along the edge. “Sorry…”  
  
Chikara straightens up and shakes his head quickly, eyes wide. “Sorry, I wasn’t blaming you. It’s not your fault. It’s just…you know.”  
  
Yeah.  
  
Shuuji sets the rice bowl down on the ground in front of him, laying the chopsticks neatly across the top. He rests his palms against his knees and glances up at the ceiling of the cave, scratching at the little patch of skin that peeks through the wide hole over his kneecap.  
  
“You’re not from around here, are you,” Chikara says.  
  
Shuuji looks at him quickly. “What makes you say that?” he asks defensively—though even as it’s coming out of his mouth, he knows it’s a stupid question.  
  
Chikara’s little grin confirms it. “Where do you come from?”  
  
Shuuji pulls his knees up to his chest and wraps his arms around them, resting his chin between them. “The truth?”  
  
Chikara nods.  
  
“I think I’m from the future.”  
  
It’s weird how scary it sounds. Scary and simple at the same time. The future has never sounded so far away.  
  
Chikara just nods again and hums sympathetically, mulling over another mouthful of rice.  
  
Shuuji gives him an incredulous look. “That doesn’t freak you out?”  
  
Chikara shakes his head, still focused on his rice. “Not really,” he says. “I figured it had to be something like that. You look different from anyone I’ve ever seen. Either you’re a time-traveler, or a foreigner. Or a youkai, maybe. But you don’t look foreign, and I used to know a man who was half-youkai, and you don’t look like him either, so…”  
  
Well. You can’t fault his logic.  
  
“Half-youkai?” Shuuji repeats.  
  
Something falters in Chikara’s expression, like he’s said something he thinks he shouldn’t have. He waves the question away. “It was a long time ago.”  
  
Shuuji nods. Rests his chin on his knees again and stares into the fire.  
  
“How am I going to get home?”  
  
It clenches in his stomach, the question he’s been trying not to ask since he first sort of suspected what had happened. He doesn’t even understand how or why it happened, but by now he’s pretty sure that it did. Unless this is some elaborate delusion, and he’s going to wake up in the middle of the construction site with that security guard splashing water on his face.  
  
But he keeps waiting. And that doesn’t happen.  
  
“I’ll help you,” Chikara says. When Shuuji looks up, there’s that little smile again. “If I can. I mean, the youkai probably had something to do with it. If we can find it, maybe it can…send you back somehow.”  
  
A light. The light. “I saw a light too,” Shuuji says, remembering suddenly. “On my side, there was this weird light sort of floating in space. And then it got brighter all of a sudden, and it was like it physically hit me, like—”  
  
“—a lightning bolt,” Chikara finishes.  
  
“Yeah.”  
  
The little smile spreads into a grin. “That settles it then. We have a demon to catch.”  
  
*      *      *  
  
Demon hunting, as it turns out, is not nearly as exciting as the name makes it sound.  
  
Mostly it involves a lot of walking very slowly and being very quiet. Chikara seems to know what he’s looking for, and occasionally he pauses to brush delicate fingertips over a few blades of grass, or close his eyes and press his ear against the trunk of a tree. Whenever Shuuji asks him exactly what he’s looking for, however, Chikara seems a bit helpless to explain. The best he manages is “traces of youki.” Which isn’t particularly illuminating.  
  
Chikara doesn’t say all that much in general, Shuuji finds. Sometimes he even seems to stop himself from saying things, which is just frustrating. Then again, sometimes when he asks just the right question, Shuuji gets an entire paragraph of earnest observation about how some trees are better in tune with youki wavelengths (or something) than others and how lately he’s even been able to pick up vibrations from different species and match them with tracks. Shuuji doesn’t understand half of it, but it’s hard not to be a bit charmed by his little bursts of enthusiasm.  
  
Occasionally it occurs to Shuuji that he might just be following a lunatic around in circles in the forest. But when the alternative is wandering around in circles in the forest by himself, given that he has no skills whatsoever at hunting or gathering, and would be likely to either poison himself or starve to death if left to his own devices (assuming he weren’t eaten by one of the many and varied youkai that apparently live in this forest), he decides to put the thought aside and just trust that Chikara knows what he’s doing. At the very least he seems to know how to find dinner on a consistent basis, which is better than nothing.  
  
*      *      *  
  
He keeps one arm straight in front of him, strong and taut. His fingers wrap around the well-worn handle. With the other, he hooks two fingers around the bowstring and draws it slowly back, keeping it close to his body. Back and back, just a little bit further, slowly, evenly, keeping his aim steady, until the frame makes the perfect arc.  
  
And release.  
  
“Ow!  _Fuck_ …”  
  
Shuuji hisses and shakes out his left arm, another angry welt surely blossoming on his forearm under his jacket. It’s a pretty warm day, actually, and he’s sort of overheating in the thing at this point, but Chikara didn’t have any arm guards or anything, so he figured he’d better leave it on for protection. It’s better than snapping the bowstring against bare skin.  
  
(Not by much though.)  
  
Chikara bends down to pick up the arrow Shuuji’s just fired, which is lying sideways about ten feet in front of them. (And a futher ten feet short of the tree they’re using for target practice.)  
  
“At least your aim is getting better,” Chikara offers.  
  
Shuuji gives him a flat look. “My aim sucks,” he grumbles as he tugs up his sleeve to inspect the accumulated damage—the inside of his forearm is notched with a series of little red tally marks. “This bow sucks.” Then he holds the stupid thing itself up in front of his face and glares at it. “Archery _sucks_!”  
  
“Hey, don’t take your temper out on the bow,” Chikara frowns, plucking it out of his hand protectively. “Just because you don’t know how to use it—”  
  
“I  _told_  you I didn’t.”  
  
“And I’m  _trying_  to teach you,” Chikara mumbles, which is his version of a grumble. He’s very tough to rile, this guy, which Shuuji is starting to find slightly irritating. Though in fairness, the repeated bruises on his arm are starting to make pretty much everything from the sunlight to the butterflies to the cute little rabbits scurrying in the brush pretty fucking irritating.  
  
“Why do I even need to know?” Shuuji whines as Chikara checks the bow over for…dents, maybe? Shuuji has no idea. This all sounded like a good idea when Chikara first suggested it, but now it’s definitely losing its shine.  
  
“Because you can’t just go looking for a youkai with nothing but your bare hands to protect you. I’d lend you one of my swords, but you don’t know how to use that either.” He hooks his fingers around the string almost absentmindedly, like they know the right spot by the feel alone, and then he pulls at it a little, testing the resistance. “You’re much less likely to injure yourself with a bow.”  
  
Shuuji doesn’t bother responding to that. Just lifts his battered forearm in pointed protest.  
  
Chikara blinks at him for a moment. And then he smiles and chuckles to himself, returning his attention to the bow. “I mean seriously hurt yourself.”  
  
Shuuji sighs and rests a hand on his hip, just watching as Chikara nocks the arrow himself and takes aim at the target. It even looks better when he does it—it looks totally effortless, like he can’t even feel the pressure of the frame trying to snap itself back into shape. His fingers just know where to go, he doesn’t have the check them or think about it. His aim holds steady, his stance is almost relaxed, like he’s pointing out an interesting feature on a nature hike and just happens to be holding a deadly weapon in his hands. When he releases the string, it doesn’t hit him or throw off his aim or pull him off balance. And the arrow sticks straight into the center of the white circle they’ve chalked onto the tree with a tidy little “thwok.”  
  
Show-off.  
  
Shuuji moves to cross his arms as Chikara goes to retrieve the arrow again, but hisses and uncrosses them again when his knuckles poke against the bruises.  
  
“Plant your feet just a little bit wider, I think,” Chikara says as he returns. He offers Shuuji the bow again, and Shuuji dawdles just long enough to tug his sleeve down again before he accepts it. “And try not to let your elbow lock inward quite so much—if you can keep it straighter and stronger, that’ll help with the string.”  
  
Easy for him to say, Shuuji thinks as he adjusts his footing and fiddles with the arrow again. Not that Shuuji is a complete weakling—but one look at the two of them side by side, and it’s pretty obvious who would win in an arm-wrestling match.  
  
“Lift the back elbow a little more,” Chikara says, and Shuuji almost jumps when he feels Chikara’s hand on him, adjusting his form like he’s a figurine. He nudges the elbow up a bit, hand closing briefly over Shuuji’s as he helps him straighten out the wrist. It’s a bit weird. And Shuuji’s arms are getting tired trying to hold the pose, but he concentrates on remembering the adjustments so he’ll be able to reproduce them on his own.  
  
“Satisfied?” Shuuji grits out against the effort of holding still.  
  
Chikara flicks his eyes over the shape one last time, then nods. “Try it like that. Keep it steady.”  
  
Shuuji releases.  
  
“OW! Shit, fuck, fuck, fucking shit…”  
  
He nearly throws the bow on the ground in his frustration—but he stops himself, looping an arm through it instead to rub vigorously at his poor bruises. That was a bad one, right on top of a couple of the others…  
  
“That’s great!”  
  
Shuuji shoots a glare at Chikara’s callousness, but soon realizes he’s not even looking in his direction—he’s looking at a spot some twenty feet away. When Shuuji follows his gaze, he even stops rubbing at his arm.  
  
It’s a hit.  
  
Okay, no, it’s not a bullseye—the arrow is stuck into the ground near the base of the tree he was aiming at, slightly to the right and at a bit of a wonky angle. But still, it’s  _stuck in_. Not just lying on its side this time. And it almost made the distance. That’s definitely the best he’s managed all morning.  
  
Chikara jogs over and plucks the arrow out of the dirt. When he turns back, he’s smiling from ear to ear—and although Shuuji resumes rubbing petulantly at his throbbing forearm, he can’t completely fight of a little smile of his own. Just a little one. Though the smile doesn’t really go away even after Shuuji’s frowning down at the bow again and checking it for…dents. Or something.  
  
“See? I told you you could get the hang of this,” Chikara says, handing him the arrow again. “It’s not that hard. Try it again. Try to get that front elbow straighter, and don’t drop your aim too much.”  
  
Shuuji takes the arrow and fiddles it into place, taking a breath as he starts to pull back. He notices his back wrist bending too much and straightens it out, trying to keep that elbow up.  
  
“Good. Not too high,” Chikara says, and Shuuji can feel his concentrated frown double-checking his posture as he circles around behind him. “That’s really good. Try to breathe into the tension—don’t let it be a struggle.”  
  
Then suddenly he gets really close, right up behind Shuuji, with one hand sort of hovering over his on the bowstring and the other wrapped around his on the handle. His cheek is right next to Shuuji’s eyes, his gaze focused down the line of their arms toward the target. He pulls the handle up just a little bit, gently. Moves his hand to Shuuji’s straightened elbow and eases it out of its locked position. Then back over his at the handle again, another little adjustment to Shuuji’s aim. Shuuji hears his even, thoughtful breaths, in and out his nose. He reminds himself to keep breathing, swallows and keeps his eye on the target. Mostly.  
  
“There,” Chikara murmurs. And then he leans back just a little, leaving the bow to Shuuji. “Release.”  
  
Shuuji does.  
  
The bow pings, but his arm doesn’t. The relief of expecting pain and not feeling it rushes out of him with the speed of the arrow, which flies much farther and straighter even than the last one. Of course, it heads about forty degrees in the wrong direction, past the edge of the brush to disappear into the river with a pitiful plop.  
  
There’s a beat of silence.  
  
And then an undignified snort.  
  
Shuuji glances over his shoulder to find Chikara curling in on himself with laughter, looking slightly boneless. That broad smile and bright eyes again. His face looks so different when he smiles, like someone’s turned a light on inside him. And somehow Shuuji feels like laughing too.  
  
“That was, um…” Chikara says, trying very hard to master himself. And failing utterly. “Better?”  
  
Shuuji punches him in the shoulder. But he’s chuckling too now, in spite of himself. “I told you my aim still sucked…”  
  
*      *      *  
  
It’s been over a week now, and still no sign of the youkai. Well, none that Shuuji is aware of, anyway. But Chikara would tell him if he’d found anything. (He’s pretty sure. Chikara can be a bit absentminded sometimes though, so who knows, maybe not.)  
  
Chikara gives him an apologetic grimace as he passes Shuuji his rice bowl. There’s more in Shuuji’s than Chikara’s, but neither one is more than half full.  
  
“I should probably do some hunting tomorrow,” Chikara says. “You can sleep in some if you want—I’ll just be out for a few hours to replenish our supplies.”  
  
‘Our supplies.’ Shuuji feels a pang of guilt. The rice would have lasted twice as long if he hadn’t been mooching it. He hasn’t even really thought about it, just let Chikara keep feeding him like there’s an unlimited supply of everything—like getting more is just a matter of running down to the conbini on the corner. Hasn’t really thought about what happens when the supply runs out.  
  
“What about the rice? Can’t we buy more wherever you got this?”  
  
Chikara shakes his head, scooping in a small mouthful. “I didn’t buy it,” he admits, still looking into his rice bowl. “It was an advance.”  
  
“An advance?”  
  
“On the youkai,” he says. “They offered me food and a place to stay for a while if I could bring them its head. I didn’t think it would take long, but…” And then he catches himself again. Doesn’t-say something, and just clears his throat instead. “Anyway, when I told them I’d seen it that first time and showed them the scars, they gave me the rice to tide me over. I don’t think they’ll give me any more unless I can show them a fang or something, at least. The headman seemed a bit…”  
  
Chikara trails off, only slightly wrinkling his nose in distaste.  
  
Shuuji just stares at him. After a week of talking to no one but Chikara, Shuuji is getting pretty good at reading between the lines all the things Chikara is too polite to say. If not for Shuuji, Chikara probably would have slain the youkai on the first try. If not for Shuuji, Chikara would be living in a little house down in the village eating decent food and maybe even getting to know some people who aren’t useless time-travelers who can’t hunt or farm or fight worth a damn, instead of huddled up here in a cave in the woods scraping the bottom of one pathetic little sack of rice. And making plans to get up early to hunt so he can continue to feed this accidental houseguest.  
  
Oh yeah. Guilt. Guilt bigtime.  
  
Shuuji nibbles on the ends of his chopsticks, even though there’s still a little rice left in his bowl. Somehow he’s suddenly lost his appetite.  
  
He has some cash in his wallet, of course, but most of it is paper money. There are a few coins, which might get them something, but somehow he thinks spreading around money minted three hundred years in the future wouldn’t be a good idea even if he could find someone willing to accept it. And he’s pretty sure the credit cards would be worth even less than the paper—not to mention the plastic itself would cause a bit of a stir.  
  
Still. There’s got to be something he can do.  
  
He casts his eyes about the shadows at the edges of the cave. There’s not much here, obviously. Shuuji didn’t bring any luggage with him to the construction site, and Chikara seems to be the type to travel light. Chikara’s swords and bow are over in the corner next to the empty rice sack and the small bundle that holds all his other belongings. Mostly spare clothing.  
  
Hm. Spare clothing.  
  
Interesting…  
  
“Chikara.”  
  
“Hm?”  
  
“I’ve got an idea.”  
  
*      *      *

“I really don’t think this will work,” Chikara says dubiously as Shuuji drags him down the path by the sleeve. “Seriously, you should have seen his face when I asked the first time. I think he only agreed because his wife sort of…um…”  
  
Shuuji slows to a halt and turns around, both eyebrows raised.  
  
Chikara already looks flustered, but it flickers with confusion for a moment at Shuuji’s look. Then his eyes snap wide again, and he waves his free hand quickly in front of his face. “Not like that! I didn’t—I mean we didn’t—I just mean…she liked me. A bit. I think.”  
  
And his ears are going red, and he looks so awkward and so unlike the calm figure who’s so effortless with a bow that Shuuji finally lets him off the hook. “Okay, fine,” Shuuji says with a one-shouldered shrug, not letting go of Chikara’s sleeve as he continues leading the way down the path. “So maybe she _still_  likes you. We can use that.”  
  
“Um…how, exactly?”  
  
Shuuji flashes a smirk. “Not like that. Don’t worry.”  
  
The effect is slightly spoiled, however, when he trips over his feet and has to snag Chikara’s elbow to keep from hitting the ground. Stupid old sandals are too hard to walk in. The broken strap at the back of the left one isn’t helping.  
  
Chikara hoists him back to his feet, and Shuuji brushes down the front of his borrowed kobakama. It’s even a little worse for wear than the one Chikara usually wears, mended a few more times over in a few more places. Shuuji sort of doesn’t mind though. Makes it feel lived-in.  
  
It’s only about a mile’s walk down to the village, but the steepness of the path and the thickness of the underbrush make it feel like longer. By the time the ground finally levels out, Shuuji’s thigh muscles are aching from walking downhill for so long, and he’s fallen off his feet twice more. (Stupid sandals.) He tries to dust himself off and make sure he doesn’t look too much like a mountain-dwelling hobo as they walk up the main road leading into the center of town. Chikara reaches over and plucks a leaf out of his hair.  
  
“Thanks.”  
  
Chikara smiles, though he still looks rather nervous and distracted. “You’re welcome.”  
  
It really isn’t a large village at all, Shuuji finds. They can see most of it from the edge of the main square. Off to the right, beyond the edge of the small collection of houses, he can see rice paddies and vegetable gardens spreading out across a misty plain. The village is surrounded on the other three sides by a mountainous ridge—the same thickly wooded territory he’s been wandering about with Chikara for the past week, looking for signs of the demon.  
  
There aren’t all that many people around either, but after several days in the woods, it feels like walking into a metropolis. There are mostly older women and young children around at this time, as many of the others are off working in the fields. A few stalls are set up in the market square, people exchanging goods amongst themselves. As they pass near a stall hung with linens, Shuuji hears a couple of women hush each other, dropping their voices to whisper about them as they pass. He can’t hear enough to tell whether it’s good whispering or bad whispering, but the way he feels Chikara shrinking a bit beside him he can at least tell that it makes him uneasy.  
  
“You okay?”  
  
“I’m fine,” Chikara says with a little nod. He’s looking down at the ground, plainly avoiding curious gazes.  
  
Shuuji frowns at him. He certainly doesn’t seem fine. It actually worries him a bit to see him shrink in on himself so much so quickly. Not like the guy doesn’t have his quiet spells, but for a moment he seems so self-protective that Shuuji’s even tempted to take him back out to the woods for a bit and give him a chance to chill out first. He never did totally warm up to this plan, did he.  
  
But they need food. And they’ve already come all this way.  
  
“You sure?”  
  
Chikara nods again, a little more firmly this time. And that will just have to do for now.  
  
It’s not difficult to locate the headman’s house—it’s easily the biggest one. It also seems a bit…flashy, somehow, though Shuuji’s not sure he really has the context to judge that in this era. Still, somehow the wood it’s built from just seems sturdier and fresher than the houses around it, the ornaments in the front garden very carefully chosen and arranged. It looks more like a miniaturized version of some feudal manor house than the home of the first citizen of a tiny rural village.  
  
Chikara hangs back as Shuuji steps up to the door. There doesn’t seem to be a bell or anything he’s supposed to use, so he just reaches out and knocks.  
  
A woman in a deep purple kimono answers.  
  
She must be in her forties, at least, but she carries her age very well. Her hair is done up at the back of her head, elegant yet simple, and her hands are smooth and pale. Unlike most of the women they passed on the way here, this is evidently a woman who has not had much experience with manual labor.  
  
When she lays eyes on Shuuji, there’s a little spark before the smile. For a moment Shuuji thinks he even sees a flicker of purple in the irises, mingled with the brown.  
  
“Can I help you?”  
  
Shuuji doesn’t waste a moment before dropping into a bow, perhaps slightly deeper than he would normally use in this situation. It just seems the thing to do.  
  
“I’m hoping you can,” he says as he straightens again, returning his friendliest smile. “My name is Shuuji,” he offers. “And this is Chikara.”  
  
Her gaze shifts to where Chikara is bowing his greeting just beyond Shuuji’s shoulder—and there’s that little spark again.  
  
“Yes,” she says, lips curving as she returns her attention to Shuuji. “The demon-slayer. We’ve met.”  
  
“Yes, I thought you might have. We’re both very grateful for the generosity you’ve shown us—I’ve been helping Chikara here look for the demon, you see.” No need to mention how useless he is at it—it’s true at least. Basically. “Unfortunately we haven’t managed to capture it yet, but we have high hopes that we’re getting very close.”  
  
“You do, do you,” the woman nods politely—and though her eyes can clearly see through the bullshit, her smile doesn’t seem to mind. “Well that’s good to hear.”  
  
“Yes,” Shuuji nods, playing innocent. “Yes, it is, isn’t it. There’s just one slight problem in the meantime. You see, although as I say, we both very much appreciated the rice you presented to Chikara as an advance, the truth is that the whole demon-hunting…expedition has taken a little bit longer than we expected…”  
  
She nods again slowly. “I see.”  
  
Yes. Yes, Shuuji can see that she does.  
  
“I realize it might not be possible to prevail upon your generosity for another advance at this time—but we were wondering if there might be any other services we could provide in the short term in return for some more rice.”  
  
The woman’s eyebrows arch slightly. “What sort of services?”  
  
“Not that!” Chikara squeaks.  
  
Shuuji elbows him in the ribs, and there’s a little hiss of pain over his shoulder in response.  
  
“Any sort of services,” Shuuji glosses over with a smile. “Just let us know what you need done, and we’ll do our best.”  
  
The woman’s eyes slide from one man to the other, sizing them up from head to toe without glancing away from their faces. Shuuji keeps his face pleasant and cheerful. Behind him, he hears Chikara swallow.  
  
“Oh, I’m certain we can think of something.”  
  
*      *      *  
  
For someone strong enough to slay a demon, Chikara seems to be remarkably skittish around women. Particularly this one, for some reason—though Shuuji really doesn’t find that too surprising, when he thinks about it. If you’re somebody who’s inclined toward a fear of women, this woman is definitely one you’d be afraid of.  
  
Murasaki-sama—that’s what she told them to call her—has put them to work in the back garden of the house, moving a stack of pickle barrels from one storehouse to another. It’s slow and heavy work, because they have to open each one up and make sure it’s the right kind first, and they’re not very well organized. A few are light enough to be carried by one man—assuming the man is Chikara, anyway—but most of them require both of them to lift.  
  
“Do you think she’d give us a few pickles along with the rice?” Chikara asks breathlessly as they push the fifth barrel back into the corner. “I would kill for a handful of them right about now.”  
  
“Let’s not push it. We’ll just do what she asks and take what she gives us. If it’s not enough, maybe we can push for more.”  
  
“Push?” Chikara says warily as he follows Shuuji back across the yard. “What do you mean by push?”  
  
“I mean negotiate. What do you think I mean?”  
  
Chikara purses his lips and averts his gaze. He doesn’t actually reply, but he doesn’t have to.  
  
Shuuji rolls his eyes and turns to the next barrel. “Relax. I’m not trying to turn you into a prostitute.”  
  
“Shhhh!” Chikara hisses, hastening to join him with the barrel. “Don’t give her any ideas.”  
  
Shuuji straightens to give him an exasperated look. “She’s not even—”  
  
“I thought some tea might be nice,” says a smooth voice from the doorway, and both of them jump at the sound. There’s that knowing little smile on her face, the same as ever, but she gives no indication whether she’s heard them talking or not. “Would you like some?”  
  
Shuuji recovers first, dipping automatically into a bow of thanks, which Chikara copies awkwardly just a half-beat later. “Yes, thank you very much. That would be lovely.”  
  
Murasaki-sama bows her head slightly and carries the small, round tray over to the raised part of the floor by the side of the storage room. She perches herself elegantly on the edge and sets the tray down beside her, sweeping her short sleeve out of the way as she pours tea into each of two fine porcelain cups. Shuuji takes the hint and moves to sit down with her on the other side of the tray. He gives Chikara’s sleeve a short tug when he doesn’t seem to have gotten the message. Chikara settles himself on Shuuji’s other side, always keeping Shuuji somewhere between himself and Murasaki-sama.  
  
When she’s finished pouring the second cup, Murasaki-sama lifts up the first and presents it to Shuuji with both hands. Shuuji accepts it with a little bow and an “itadakimasu.” When she offers Chikara his cup, he ducks around Shuuji just long enough to take it politely, and then sits back again.  
  
It’s quite tasty, and it really is appreciated—all this manual labor is thirsty work.  
  
“So,” Murasaki-sama says, settling her hands in her lap. “How did you boys become involved in demon-hunting?”  
  
Shuuji takes an extra-long sip, just to give himself time to consider his answer. Chikara, still trying to keep out of Murasaki’s direct line of sight, is no help at all. “I just sort of…fell into it, myself,” he says with a little smile, hoping to charm his way out of too many difficult follow-ups. “Chikara has been doing it for much longer than I have, though. He—” Hm. Shuuji actually has no idea how Chikara got into demon-hunting. “His father taught him,” he finishes. It’s as good an answer as any.  
  
Or maybe not, he thinks, when he hears Chikara choke on his tea.  
  
Murasaki-sama’s eyes flick past Shuuji to where Chikara is hunched over, wiping tea off his chest with his sleeve. “Did he now,” she murmurs. “Yes. It’s always a fine thing when the son goes the way of the father, isn’t it.”  
  
Chikara’s teacup hits the ground then, splashing half its contents onto the dirt floor before he can right it. Shuuji glances over at him with a questioning frown, wondering what the hell has gotten into him all of a sudden—but Chikara waves him off to show he’s alright. He doesn’t meet Shuuji’s eyes either this time though.  
  
He wants to ask. But now really isn’t the time.  
  
“Yes,” he says instead, returning his attention to Murasaki-sama and taking another deep sip of his own tea. “Yes, it is, isn’t it.”  
  
“And what does your father do, Shuuji-san?”  
  
This time it’s Shuuji who nearly chokes on his tea.  
  
 _He’s a middle manager for Ajinomoto’s frozen foods division._  
  
Can’t say that.  
  
“He was a fisherman. He died at sea when I was very young.”  
  
“Oh,” she murmurs. “I’m so sorry to hear that. That must have been difficult.”  
  
“Yes. Yeah, it was.”  
  
Her eyes flick down to something near his cheek. Shuuji wonders what it is until he feels a tiny bead of sweat slip from his chin. Murasaki-sama reaches for a handkerchief tucked into the front of her obi. He expects her to hand it to him—but instead she reaches out and dabs it gently against the side of his face, fingertips just brushing his hairline. And something about it—the natural forwardness of the gesture, that steady focus that seems to linger near his mouth as she daubs at his skin, even a little bit of the way down his throat—makes him shiver a little bit.  
  
Right. Okay. That…wasn’t really part of the plan.  
  
“You must be terribly uncomfortable like that,” she murmurs. “I can run you a bath if you like.”  
  
She’s not talking to both of them anymore.  
  
Shuuji swallows. He opens his mouth to say something clever and gently demurring, but nothing comes to mind. Instead he takes another tiny sip of tea, just to play for time. Suddenly he feels he understands a little bit better why Chikara is so skittish around this woman. There’s something…odd about her. Not evil, exactly, or even necessarily dangerous. Just sort of…formidable.  
  
“Come inside the house and change out of those things,” she says, running fingertips gently down over his rough sleeve. “You’ll be much more comfortable. And I’m sure I can find a goodly supply of rice somewhere in our stores. And anything else you might need.”  
  
That right there—that’s an offer. He might be three-hundred years away from home, but he’s sat in on enough contract negotiations to recognize a bid when he hears it. She had only offered them one small sack of rice for the pickle barrels. A couple of days’ worth at most.  
  
He glances over at Chikara, who’s still sitting slightly hunched over on his other side, trying to hide in his teacup. Now that Shuuji looks at him again, he actually seems a little bit pale—paler than he was ten minutes ago, before Murasaki-sama walked in.  
  
Maybe this wasn’t such a good idea after all. Just being here seems to be sucking the life out of him. Ever since they set foot inside the town and were surrounded by people, and it’s only gotten worse since Shuuji dragged him into Murasaki-sama’s place. He needs to get them out of here.  
  
Maybe he’d better just do it. Get what they came for and go.  
  
Right. He can do that. Just don’t…think about it too much.  
  
“Okay,” he says, tamping down the nervous little lurch in his stomach. He hopes it doesn’t come out too awkwardly.  
  
Her eyes spark again, and that smile spreads. She leaves the tea tray where it is as she gets to her feet, beckoning him to follow.  
  
He can do this. It’s the easiest way. He can definitely just do this and get it done. And then they’ll leave, and they’ll have food, and everything will be fine again.  
  
Shuuji is halfway up when a sharp tug on his other sleeve makes him drop back onto his seat again.  
  
“What?” he hisses, glaring at Chikara.  
  
Chikara is looking back at him, scandalized. “You’re not actually going to go with her, are you?” he hisses back.  
  
“Shuuji-kun,” Murasaki-sama murmurs from over near the doorway. “I’ll be waiting for you back at the house.”  
  
Shuuji smiles, maybe a little too brightly. “I’ll be right there.”  
  
“Don’t be too long…”  
  
Shuuji keeps smiling until she’s out of sight. Then he yanks his sleeve free of Chikara’s grip and gets to his feet. “What are you doing? You heard what she said. If I do this, we can stop messing with the pickles and still get the food.  _Lots_  of it.”  
  
“If you…” Chikara gets to his feet and takes a couple of steps toward him. Shuuji doesn’t like that look in his eye. It’s like Shuuji’s just suggested they feast on human children instead of bothering with rice. “You’re not actually going to…do  _that_ , are you?”  
  
“Yeah,” he defends, straightening a little. “Sure. Why not?”  
  
“Why not?” Chikara yells—and then darts a frightened glance toward the doorway, remembering thin walls and small gardens and lowering his voice again. “What do you mean, why not? It’s degrading. It’s  _wrong_. And her husband will kill you.”  
  
“So what?” Shuuji throws up his hands. He’s nervous enough as it is, and Chikara isn’t helping. Fine time for him to get his groove back, now Murasaki-sama is out of sight. “It’s what she wants, and she’ll give us food—and as soon as we find the demon, I’ll be gone anyway, so what difference does it make? And her husband isn’t here.”  
  
“But he might come back.”  
  
“So keep a lookout then,” he dismisses, turning toward the door. Why can’t he just let him get this over with?  
  
Chikara snags him by the sleeve again. “Shuuji…”  
  
“What  _now_?”  
  
When he turns back, Chikara is staring at him with a troubled look in his eye, like he’s trying to put words in order. In the end though, he comes up blank.  
  
He deflates with a sigh and lets go of Shuuji’s sleeve.  
  
“Fine,” he mumbles. “Whatever. Do whatever you want.”  
  
Shuuji frowns as Chikara turns away.  
  
He knows he’s won the argument. And moreover, he knows he’s right. Okay, no, this isn’t how he usually likes to earn his way in the world—but this isn’t his world. There’s not much call for any of the skills he has to hand around here—except, maybe, this one. He knows how to be what people want. And it’s better than just letting Chikara wait on him hand and foot until they find a way for him to leave. He can’t hunt and he can’t fight—but at least he can do this. And if someone will give him what he needs in exchange, then really, what fucking difference does it make?  
  
But somehow it still feels like he’s letting Chikara down. Which is stupid, because since when is Chikara’s vaunted opinion of him the center of the fucking universe anyway?  
  
He’s only trying to repay his kindness.  
  
“I’ll be back in a little while, okay?” Shuuji mutters.  
  
He waits a few moments to see if there will be any response.  
  
There isn’t.  
  
*      *      *  
  
The bath feels really, really good.  
  
They’ve bathed and rinsed clothes in the stream a few times in the past week, but a cold stream is a far cry from a heated tub. This feels like the first time he’s been properly clean since he got here. She’s whisked away his—that is, Chikara’s—clothes for a proper scrubbing, and given him a spare kosode to wear in the meantime. It’s softer and in much better shape than Chikara’s but a little less cozy somehow.  
  
Now he’s alone in a small room at one corner of the house, fidgeting and trying not to think too much about what he’s doing. There’s a futon already laid out in the corner, and he’s acutely aware for the first time today of having left his boxer briefs with the rest of his modern clothes up in the cave, in favor of going whole hog with the contemporary dress.  
  
He wonders what Chikara is doing. Still sulking with the pickles? Keeping watch for the headman to make sure he doesn’t have any sharp implements with him if/when he finds them together?  
  
Heading back up to the cave by himself?  
  
Stupid. Whatever, it is what it is. He’ll do it, it’ll be done, and they’ll have food for another week. At least. Hopefully.  
  
(God, how much rice is “that” actually worth? There’s a question he never thought he’d be asking himself…)  
  
The door slides open behind him. He glances back over his shoulder, watches as Murasaki-sama steps in and closes the door quietly behind her again. She’s changed into a simple yukata in a light shade of lavender, with only one sash tying it closed at the waist.  
  
Oh, shit. He’s really doing this.  
  
Her eyes really do sweep over him from head to toe this time, and he tries not to fidget under her appreciative gaze. He’s not really even sure what one is expected to do in situations like this. Most of his previous partners have expected him to take charge, and he’s been fine with that. It made it easier to control the timing and the situation, and sometimes he needed that. For various reasons.  
  
It’s complicated.  
  
But this is different. He’s hundreds of years away from all the social norms he knows, and aside from the occasional jidaigeki on TV, he really doesn’t have much to go on here. And even if they did, Murasaki-sama isn’t exactly the typical costume-drama heroine.  
  
Fortunately, she doesn’t seem to expect him to do all the work.  
  
She runs her fingertips down along the side of his face, bare this time, and less careful. Her thumb brushes back and forth over his pulse as her hand curls around his neck, and he tries to calm it a bit. Tries to keep his breathing steady and not swallow too hard when she leans in to kiss the base of his throat. Her fingers slide underneath the collar of his shirt, palm flattening against his chest, and his heart kind of goes crazy then, and oh god, this could be harder than he thought—  
  
He jumps a mile when the door slams open again—  
  
And there’s Chikara, eyes wide and urgent.  
  
“Shuuji,” he gasps, trying to catch his breath, “we have to go.  _Now_.”  
  
“What?” he glances briefly at Murasaki-sama, who looks mildly disgruntled at the interruption. “Is it the headman?”  
  
Chikara shakes his head and crosses the room in a few short strides. Grabbing Shuuji by the sleeve, he pulls the shirt halfway down his shoulder as he drags him out of the woman’s arms. “It’s the youkai. It’s attacking the village.”  
  
Shuuji stumbles for his balance and blinks at Chikara. “It’s attacking…?”  
  
Chikara nods frantically.  
  
“Right. Um,” he glances back to Murasaki-sama, then Chikara again, and tries to sort out his kosode enough to keep himself decent. “Sorry. I’ll…have to take a rain check?”  
  
“A…what?” For the first time today, Murasaki-sama looks genuinely perplexed. Chikara mirrors her expression.  
  
Shuuji waves them both off. “Nevermind, we don’t have time for this. Come on!” He grabs Chikara by the sleeve, and together they hurtle toward the front door.  
  
As soon as they’re outside again, Shuuji can hear the chaos—screams of panic, people running this way and that. Occasional unearthly shrieking noises that Shuuji can only imagine must come from the youkai. He should be terrified, probably—he doesn’t even have the bow, they left it up at the cave, not that it would do him much good in practice—but between the adrenaline in his veins and the sudden sense of purpose in his mind, he can only feel excited. And yes, a bit anxious.  
  
The sounds are coming from the main square, just a couple of small blocks away, and between the houses Shuuji can see a massive winged creature overhead, all blacks and greens and purple scales. He’s about to run straight up the main avenue, but Chikara tugs him toward a narrower side street instead, running toward the end of the square that’s behind the creature’s current location. He skids to such a sudden halt at the corner of the last house that Shuuji stumbles right into his back.  
  
“You okay?” Chikara asks.  
  
“I’m fine,” Shuuji says, tightening the belt keeping his clothes on again, just to make sure. “What do we do?”  
  
“We have to lead it away from the villagers first. Then maybe we’ll be able to capture it.”  
  
Shuuji leans around Chikara’s side, taking in the scene across the square. All the women and children are scattering between the houses, a couple of which appear to be on fire. The menfolk are crowded throughout the square, swiping fruitlessly at the demon with farming implements—sharp enough, but really too clumsy for combat. Not to mention midair combat.  
  
Shuuji gasps when one of the men gets picked up by a massive claw and flung through a wall of one of the nearby houses.  
  
“Shit…”  
  
Okay. So maybe demon hunting isn’t  _all_  boredom.  
  
Just mostly boredom. With occasional moments of abject terror.  
  
“Here,” Chikara says, and Shuuji tears his eyes away from the battle to watch Chikara place the handle of his shorter sword into Shuuji’s palm.  
  
He meets Chikara’s eyes with a questioning frown. “I thought you said it was too dangerous to give me one of these.”  
  
Chikara gives an apologetic shrug. “No choice now, I guess. This is all we’ve got.”  
  
Shuuji tries not to feel like that’s his fault too. Sure, the village was his idea—but Chikara didn’t exactly urge him to drag the bow along, so. They’re even on that one.  
  
“Okay,” he says, looking down at the sword and testing its weight a bit in his grip. “So what do we do now?”  
  
“You head out there first, try to get its attention. Lead it back toward the edge of town—back the way we first came.”  
  
Shuuji blinks at him for a moment. Then he shifts his weight to the other foot.  
  
“Are you asking me to be the bait?”  
  
Chikara purses his lips and doesn’t say anything. Which obviously means yes.  
  
“You’ve got to be  _kidding_  me…”  
  
“I won’t let anything happen to you, okay?” Chikara rushes to reassure him.  
  
“An hour ago you were worrying I’d get murdered by a  _human_ —but now suddenly a huge, fanged, scaly dragon thing with time-travel capabilities is no problem?”  
  
“Well do you have a better idea?”  
  
“I don’t even know what  _your_  idea is! So far, all I’ve got is me waving my arms and volunteering to be dragon food.”  
  
“It’s…we just…look, it would take too long to explain, okay? But trust me, I have a plan.”  
  
Shuuji glares at him. “Well it better be a  _fucking good_  plan. Because if that thing eats me for lunch, I’m haunting your ass from here to eternity…”  
  
Chikara winces, but gives another little firm nod.  
  
“Right,” Shuuji says, adjusting his grip on the sword and watching the beast take the roof off another house with its spiny tail. “I just…run then, right? And hope it follows?”  
  
“Right. And whatever you do, whatever you hear, don’t look back. Just keep running. I’ll handle the rest.”  
  
Shuuji looks at Chikara again. Chikara is looking at the youkai, a little nervous twitch at the hinge of his jaw—and somehow it’s only just now occurring to Shuuji that while he’s going to be running as fast as he can away from the thing, Chikara is the one who’s actually going to have to fight it.  
  
He really hopes Chikara knows what he’s doing.  
  
“Be careful,” Shuuji says.  
  
Chikara glances over again, slightly surprised. Then there’s a little smile on his lips. And a little nod.  
  
“I will,” he says. “I promise.”  
  
Shuuji nods.  
  
Then he runs.  
  
It doesn’t take much to get the creature’s attention, just a little shouting and a few rocks thrown from the ground. He yells to the menfolk to clear the area, and they seem only too happy to follow his instructions, despite not having any idea who he is. But presumably anybody willing to attract the demon’s attention singlehanded is a welcome addition to their ranks at the moment.  
  
Once the other tasty morsels have scattered, the demon zeroes in on Shuuji. Shuuji looks back only once to make sure it’s actually following him, and then he does as Chikara said—he runs. He runs like hell, straight toward the place where the square narrows into a road again and heads back toward the woods. An unearthly screech rings out behind him, and a blast of white-hot pink shoots just past his shoulder, making him flinch and stumble a bit. In an eyeblink, a giant tree a few yards ahead is engulfed in wicked, poisonous flames. Shuuji keeps running.  
  
 _Where the fuck are you, Chikara…?_  
  
Another bloodcurdling wail, right behind him this time, and he can actually feel the heat of its breath as it’s about to pounce, crush him and tear him to shreds with massive pointy teeth, and his foot slips on a rock and he’s  _falling_ , and  _oh shit_ …  
  
He lands hard—much harder than he’d have thought possible, actually, because the ground actually shudders—arms covering his head, limbs curled inward protectively, waiting for the crunch…  
  
But there’s another wail, and it’s still a few feet away, and nothing has eaten him yet. The ground gives another little tremor, and Shuuji flinches, pushing himself up on his elbows—and there’s the demon, writhing on the ground, its wings and one of its four clawed feet tangled and immobilized by some kind of rope. Chikara is hovering nearby it with the end of the rope in one hand and the sword in the other trying to keep the creature’s free limbs from slashing him to bits. He’s bleeding in several places, a look of fierce concentration on his face, but he seems basically okay.  
  
And then the creature thrashes violently again and nearly pulls him off his feet.  
  
Shuuji jumps up and grabs his dropped sword, taking two steps back toward him before remembering Chikara’s explicit instructions.  
  
No matter what, don’t turn back. Just keep running.  
  
He might just get in the way if he tries to help. Chikara seems to have this mostly under control, and Shuuji’s not even sure what he’s trying to do. But still, he can’t just… _stand_  here…  
  
When Shuuji sees the spiny tail aiming for Chikara’s face while Chikara is busy fighting off one of the giant claws, the decision is made for him. He dashes back into the fray, throwing both sword and body into the path of the tail and shouting, “Chikara!”  
  
“Shuuji, don’t!”  
  
It barrels into him like a Mack truck, sword first and then body, throwing him sideways across the ground. He tries to get up again, still hearing howls and struggles behind him, but a sharp pain in his ribs and a very unpleasant tilting sensation in his head knocks him over again before he gets farther than his knees. A bright pink light seeps in through his eyelids suddenly, a light ringing, and he can’t tell whether it’s coming from inside his head or outside it—and then, just as suddenly, it’s quiet.  
  
Something metal hits the ground. Then something not metal and—thankfully—breathing.  
  
Shuuji opens his eyes, trying to blink the dust away.  
  
Chikara is lying spread-eagled on the ground a few feet away, trying to catch his breath. He’s bleeding in a couple more places, but the way he scrubs his hands over his face seems to suggest his limbs are in working order. There’s a tangled mess of rope nearby, but the demon is nowhere to be seen.  
  
“Are you okay?” Shuuji asks.  
  
“I’m fine,” Chikara sighs. “Are you?”  
  
“Pretty much,” Shuuji says, wincing and holding his bruised ribs as he pushes himself up to sit.  
  
“I told you to keep running. You should have kept running.”  
  
“That thing nearly took your head off,” Shuuji protests.  
  
“But it didn’t.”  
  
“Because  _I_  stopped it.”  
  
“I would have stopped it,” Chikara pouts, pushing himself up to sit as well and brushing ineffectually at his hopelessly dirty shirt.  
  
“Bullshit.”  
  
“I would have. I  _told_  you I wouldn’t let it get you.”  
  
Shuuji makes a show of glancing over the blood and dirt smudges covering the both of them from head to toe. “How could I have doubted you for a second…”  
  
Chikara just sighs and runs a hand through his hair. It comes away a little less bloody, but a little more dusty.  
  
Then Shuuji notices something odd sitting in the dirt near the clump of rope—a big curved white thing, like an elephant’s tusk. “Hey,” Shuuji says, jerking his chin toward the thing. “What’s that?”  
  
Chikara blinks at him, then follows his nod over to the tangle. He frowns for a moment—and then he gasps, stumbling awkwardly to his feet and rushing over to extricate the weird artifact. Shuuji gets to his feet a little more carefully, favoring his injured side, and walks over to join him.  
  
“It’s a spine,” Chikara murmurs, and he runs a thumb carefully over the impossibly sharp tip.  
  
“From the youkai?”  
  
Chikara nods. “From its tail, I think. You must have cut it off when you threw yourself in front of it.”  
  
“I did that?” Shuuji says, feeling a bit woozy now that he’s looking at the thing. It had been all adrenaline in the moment, but if he’d been close enough to the spines to cut one off…a few inches over and the bruise on his side would have been a pretty nasty new piercing.  
  
“Yeah. Isn’t it great?”  
  
Shuuji gives Chikara’s gleeful smile a perplexed look. “Is it?”  
  
“Of course it is! Don’t you know what this means?”  
  
Shuuji blinks at him and shakes his head dumbly.  
  
“We’ve got a compass now,” Chikara says, holding up the spine between them. “We can use this to find the demon’s nest. Everything will be so much easier now—we’ll catch the thing in no time.”  
  
“Oh,” Shuuji says, looking at the spine and then at Chikara again—though he still really has no idea how this pointy bit of monster is supposed to help them find the rest of it. “That’s…good?”  
  
“It’s  _fantastic_.”  
  
“You boys,” a stern voice interrupts, and both of them turn quickly to face the stern man it belongs to. From the set of his face and the relative fineness of his dress—although he looks a bit banged up at the moment too, like everyone else in the vicinity—and the way Chikara straightens up a bit at the sight of him, Shuuji guesses this must be the headman. He has a sudden urge to apologize, though he’s not even sure what for. The man just has that aura about him.  
  
That is, until he drops to his knees in the deepest bow he can possibly offer.  
  
“Thank the heavens for you both! If you hadn’t been here, our entire village and all of its people would have been utterly destroyed. Please, you must let us treat your injuries and see to your needs. How can we ever repay you?”  
  
Shuuji and Chikara look at each other. Chikara just gives an awkward shrug, and they return the thanks.  
  
*      *      *  
  
They spend another few hours in the village being patched up with the rest of the injured and taking part in an impromptu feast. There’s drinking and celebration late into the night, led by the village headman—who, it turns out, isn’t really such a bad guy after all. At least not once you get a few pints into him. Or threaten him with death-by-giant-scaly-demon.  
  
Eventually Murasaki-sama gently pries the cup out of his hand and ushers him off to bed. She pauses only briefly in the doorway to give Shuuji a slightly wistful look, and a little shrug of farewell. Shuuji nods back, ears aflame, and hides his face in his cup.  
  
They head back to their cave laden with gifts—a few sacks of rice, fresh clothing, and other goods, but most notably four jugs of fine sake. They’re both already a bit tipsy from the feast, but after the long walk—and the even longer day—they find themselves propped up against the cave wall beside the fire with a jug each, drinking and talking through the day’s events.  
  
During a pleasant lull in the conversation, Shuuji thinks back to the pickle barrels and tea in Murasaki-sama’s storeroom. The heat and the sweat, and odd snatches of conversation.  
  
His father. For maybe the first time since he’s been here, he thinks of his father. And his mother, and his little kid brother, not that he’s so little anymore, really. He misses them all of a sudden. Not that he even sees them all that often when he’s where—when—he’s supposed to be, because they all live in different cities these days, and it’s rare that they’re all in the same place. But, still. He’s never been quite this far away before. If he gets back, he’ll try to see them as soon as possible. When he gets back.  
  
 _It’s always a fine thing when the son goes the way of the father, isn’t it_ …  
  
That’s right—he meant to ask about that.  
  
“Chikara?”  
  
“Hm?” he mumbles lazily past a slow blink and another little sip of rice wine.  
  
“I was just wondering…what does your father really do?”  
  
Chikara stills.  
  
Shuuji sneaks a glance over at him—his face looks very tense all of a sudden. Not really angry or upset or anything, just…very, very wary.  
  
Okay, there’s definitely something behind that. He’d been wondering if it was just the twitchiness about Murasaki-sama before, but they’re nowhere near her now—and unless Chikara has just suddenly decided to get all twitchy around him too (which he wouldn’t like one bit, but that’s not for him to decide), there’s definitely something he’s not saying. Maybe it’s the same thing he keeps not saying.  
  
And Shuuji really wants to know what it is—but after everything, if Chikara still doesn’t feel like he can tell him, then he doesn’t want to pry it out of him by—  
  
“My father was ronin.”  
  
Shuuji looks over at him again, surprised. Chikara is looking down at the sake jug in his lap, picking at a stray thread in the rope handle tied around the neck. Now that he thinks about it, it does sort of make sense. Between the swordsmanship and the manners, Chikara would have to be a person with some kind of background—but given the way he lives his life, he probably doesn’t have much of a place to go back to. He doesn’t really seem like the type of man who would choose a life on his own in the woods just for the fun of it.  
  
Chikara swallows, apparently being very careful to keep his voice quiet and steady. “We were thrown out after our lord was convicted of conspiring against this other…neighboring lord guy,” he explains, waving a hand a bit drunkenly as he fumbles for the words. “He hadn’t done anything wrong—” he says quickly, almost looking at Shuuji before apparently thinking better of it. “He was a good man. My father had a lot of respect for him. We all did.”  
  
Shuuji feels a frown pulling at his brow. There’s something weirdly…familiar about this story.  
  
“It wasn’t fair, and all of us knew it—he’d obviously been set up. There was this witch lady, she did stuff with spiders—I don’t know. But he never would have tried to kill the guy just for—and we  _knew_  that, it was obvious, but we couldn’t prove it in time to save him. So…we took revenge for him instead. All forty-seven of us. I’m the only one left.”  
  
And that, of course, is when the penny drops.  
  
Chikara peeks over at him, trying not to show his unease. Meanwhile Shuuji is staring at him, mouth slightly agape—and normally he would be more sensitive to the fact that Chikara is clearly nervous about telling him this and afraid of what his reaction will be. But at the moment he’s a little bit busy having an aneurism.  
  
“You…you’re…Oishi Chikara.”  
  
Chikara blinks and looks at him more directly, perplexed. “How did you…? I never told you my…”  
  
“Holy shit, you’re  _Oishi Chikara_ ,” Shuuji repeats, and it’s actually like he’s seeing him for the first time.  
  
“You’ve…heard of me?”  
  
“Of  _course_  I’ve heard of you. You’re, like…legend or history or whatever. We studied the Chuushingura  _four times_  in high school. Every school kid in Japan in the last  _three centuries_  has heard of you. You’re  _Oishi Chikara_ …” By now he’s sort of staring into the middle of the room, mentally slapping himself for not putting it together sooner. Not like Chikara’s such a terribly uncommon name, especially in this era, but with the timing and the swords and all the…stuff. Idiot.  
  
“I’m a legend?”  
  
Shuuji looks over at him again to find Chikara turned inward with a little bit of a grin on his face. It’s sort of cute, and so much nicer than that stiff, grim expression he’d been wearing a few minutes ago that Shuuji can’t help but smile back.  
  
“Yeah,” he says. “You are.”  
  
Then Shuuji punches him in the shoulder. “Why didn’t you tell me, you jerk?”  
  
Chikara winces and rubs at the bruise, but there’s still a little smile there. “I don’t know. I don’t really tell anyone anymore.”  
  
“Why the hell not?”  
  
“Because most people sort of tend to run me out of town with torches and pitchforks when they find out,” Chikara says.  
  
When he notices Shuuji’s confused look, he gives a little shrug. “I might be a legend where you come from, but where I come from I’m a conspirator and a landless ronin and a convicted murderer. Things were okay for a while when my mother was still around, but after she passed away and I was on my own…let’s just say there aren’t a whole lot of people who want to take a chance on letting someone like me hang around anywhere once they know the truth.”  
  
Shuuji hums in sympathy. Yeah. That wouldn’t be a good feeling.  
  
It’s still hard to believe though. Anyone who’d spent even a little bit of time with him should know he’d never hurt anyone who didn’t seriously deserve it.  
  
“I think Murasaki-sama knows though,” Chikara says in a bit of a hush, as if she might be listening in on their conversation. “She seems to know pretty much everything, somehow.”  
  
“Yeah,” Shuuji concurs. “A little bit spooky, isn’t she.”  
  
“I think she might have demon blood in her somewhere. I can’t be sure though. It’s harder to tell with humans.”  
  
“I thought you said you didn’t have a problem with people having demon blood.”  
  
“I don’t,” Chikara says quickly. “But most of the half-demons I’ve known haven’t tried to hit on me every time their husbands left the room…”  
  
Shuuji chuckles and raises his sake jug in a toast. “To Murasaki-sama—the demon at the feast.”  
  
Chikara grins and takes a deep drink. Shuuji catches himself watching the way it ripples down his throat when he tilts his head back like that. Then he turns his attention back to his own jug and takes another quick sip, before busying himself making sure the stopper is in the hole just right. Twisting it a little this way and that.  
  
“I’m glad you didn’t sleep with her.”  
  
Shuuji starts and glances over at Chikara. He looks a bit hazy, but relaxed still, sort of staring into the middle distance again. Shuuji wonders if he even realizes he said that out loud.  
  
“It wasn’t that big a deal,” Shuuji says, clearing his throat a little and trying to keep it casual. “I mean, it all worked out, so whatever—but it was fine. I’d have done it. We needed the food, and it was my turn, and I can’t hunt or fish or kill demons. I can’t let you do all the work.”  
  
“I know,” Chikara says, nodding. Still drifty. “You’re right. You were right. I shouldn’t have jumped on you like that. You were only trying to help.”  
  
And then he lowers his eyes. And his head sort of rolls to the side a bit, until his gaze finds its way back up to meet Shuuji’s. Still sort of hazy, but a bit something else too.  
  
Shy, maybe?  
  
“But I’m still glad you didn’t.”  
  
Shuuji just stares back at him. He had other things he’d meant to say, other things about Chikara being too prudish and righteous and the ends justifying the means. Being practical. But none of them fit anymore.  
  
Because the truth is, he’s glad too.  
  
He licks his lips.  
  
“You are?”  
  
Chikara hesitates. Then nods slowly.  
  
“Yeah,” Chikara murmurs. Shuuji sees his throat move again. “Is that—is that okay?”  
  
He’s fiddling with his sake jug and his cheeks are stained a bit red, and Shuuji wonders how much is from the drink and how much is from the thing Shuuji thinks he just said. There’s a warm sort of glow in his own chest that definitely wasn’t there a few moments ago.  
  
“It’s okay,” Shuuji says. And then, without really giving himself a chance to think about it too much. “Me too.”  
  
“Yeah?”  
  
Shuuji nods.  
  
“Are we…talking about the same thing?”  
  
Shuuji gives him a careful, scrutinizing look. “I’m pretty sure. Let me test.”  
  
“How are you going to do that?” Chikara asks, frowning curiously.  
  
“It would take too long to explain,” Shuuji says, lips quirking at the edges. “But trust me, I have a plan.”  
  
And then he shifts around a bit and puts a hand on Chikara’s shoulder to steady himself as he leans in. He feels Chikara watching him all the way like he’s not sure what’s coming, but Shuuji just lets his eyes fall closed and his lips fall open just a little. Just a brush. Chikara’s lips are warm and as soft as they look, and it’s a bit sloppy, maybe, but that’s the drink.  
  
Maybe it’s all the drink. Or at least that’s what he can tell them both in the morning if it turns out he was wrong.  
  
There’s a little breath between them, and Shuuji’s not sure which one of them it belongs to. And then nothing happens. And he’s just about to lean away and laugh it off when suddenly a warm, calloused hand curls around the side of his head clumsily and slightly crushes his ear.  
  
And Chikara kisses him back.  
  
*      *      *

Demon hunting gets more interesting after that.  
  
Shuuji’s not even sure why, exactly. He still doesn’t understand what they’re doing, except that now Chikara has some kind of weird device constructed from rope and fresh tree branches, which suspends the spine vertically in the center of a twisted hoop of wood, sort of like a dream catcher. Chikara calls it a compass, but it looks like no compass Shuuji has ever seen. Unless north is straight-up-into-the-sky in this era…  
  
“The spine resonates with the demon’s youki,” Chikara explains one evening as he reinforces a bending piece of the hoop with a fresh branch. “You can feel the vibrations of it in the wood whenever you cross its path, and they get stronger the stronger the youki is. It’s basically the same thing I was doing before, except I was only able to pick up traces of any demon that happened to have passed by. This spine only reacts to the one that it came from.”  
  
Shuuji nods over a mouthful of rice, trying to keep it all straight in his head. “So it’s like a Geiger counter or something?”  
  
Chikara blinks at him. “A what?”  
  
Shuuji shakes his head. “Nevermind. What makes the youki stronger or weaker then?”  
  
“Mmm,” Chikara mumbles thoughtfully, concentrating on a tricky bit of weaving. “Time and distance, basically. And frequency. So if it’s stronger, then it means—”  
  
“The youkai is close,” Shuuji nods. “Or passed by recently.”  
  
“Or very, very often.”  
  
Chikara lets him carry the wakizashi all the time now. He tried to get Shuuji to try the bow again, but after a couple more misfires and bruises and an attempt at stance-correction that ended up with the bow abandoned on the ground while the two of them rolled in the bushes very much not practicing archery, Shuuji finally talked him out of it. After all, he’d proven himself well enough with the sword in battle, and with his aim as inconsistent as it was, it seemed as likely that he’d shoot Chikara with it as the demon in any given situation. Chikara carries the bow himself now, along with the katana.  
  
The food makes the days more pleasant as well—there’s more variety than before, and at the rate they’re making progress with the demon hunting they don’t really have to worry about running out anytime soon. Shuuji takes to getting up early and fixing breakfast for the both of them—partly as his contribution to the hunting effort, but mostly just to see Chikara smile. Chikara always used to get up before him, so he hadn’t realized until now that Mr. Samurai Man is actually really not a morning person. Shuuji likes getting to see that sleepy sluggishness in his eyes and the tangled jumble of his hair, and feel the slight clumsiness as he leans in by the fire and kisses Shuuji good morning.  
  
It’s a soft kind of warmth he never even knew he wanted. Never would have thought he was capable of feeling. But there it is, and now he really doesn’t want it to go away.  
  
“Shuuji?” Chikara murmurs to him one night as they lie together in the dark. The fire is banked down for the night and they’re tucked up together underneath a couple of the spare kosodes they got from the villagers. Shuuji can feel Chikara’s fingers playing idly with the beltloops on his jeans underneath the covers—he thinks they’re weird, but somehow endlessly fascinating—and see his dark eyes aglow in the reflected moonlight.  
  
“Hm.”  
  
“What’s a Geiger counter?”  
  
Shuuji grins and breathes a little laugh. “Where did you hear that?”  
  
“From you, obviously,” Chikara says, giving him a ‘duh’ look and tugging on his jeans. “You said it the other day. About the compass.”  
  
“Ohh—right. I did, didn’t I,” Shuuji chuckles, squirming a little when Chikara’s thumb brushes his skin just underneath the hem of his t-shirt. “Well, to be honest, I don’t even really know exactly what it is—just that it’s some kind of machine that detects radiation. Or something.”  
  
“What’s radiation?”  
  
“It’s…energy. Sort of. I think it’s kind of everywhere, like in sunlight and rocks and everything—but the kind of radiation people mean when they talk about radiation is the dangerous kind, the kind that comes from things that produce power.”  
  
“Like cars?”  
  
Shuuji told him about cars the other day, when a careless remark about how much his feet hurt from walking through the woods ended up with him trying (and mostly failing) to explain the workings of the internal combustion engine. Chikara is a very curious sort. Shuuji never realized how much he didn’t know about his own world until Chikara started quizzing him about it.  
  
“More like nuclear power plants. I mean, cars probably have some kind of radiation too, I don’t know. And people say things about cell phones, but that might just be an urban myth.”  
  
“Cell phones?”  
  
“Handheld devices for talking to people who are far away,” Shuuji says, holding up his free hand and sort of vaguely miming the size of one. “They’re really common in my time. Actually, hang on…”  
  
He pushes himself up to sit and twists around, blinking in the dark. His jacket is lying on the ground just a few inches behind him, and he reaches for it, dragging it towards him. He has to dig around in two of the pockets, but eventually he finds what he’s looking for.  
  
“I have one. See?” he says, holding up the device as Chikara sits up beside him. He fumbles a bit for the switch in the dark—he turned it off soon after he arrived, figuring it wouldn’t be much use here, so hopefully it still has a little life left in it. Sure enough, after a couple of moments the screen lights up, and Chikara jumps, flinching and blinking away from the sudden brightness.  
  
“Sorry,” Shuuji says with a little chuckle. “I forgot to warn you.”  
  
But Chikara is hardly paying attention to him anymore. He’s still squinting a bit as his eyes adjust, but he’s totally mesmerized by the screen—all the little loading graphics and image-fades of the startup sequence. He gasps again when Shuuji swipes at the screen with his thumb and makes it move.  
  
“That’s… _amazing_. How did you make that…?”  
  
Shuuji laughs. “I didn’t make it. Actually,” he says as he flicks the screen around a couple more times, skimming all the little icons and trying to imagine what they look like to someone who has no frame of reference for them, “I have no idea how you make stuff like this. You have to be an expert in all sorts of complicated things that I don’t really understand, like programming and microcircuitry.”  
  
“Your world has a lot of complicated things,” Chikara says, reaching out and swiping tentatively at the screen with his own finger. He practically snatches it back when it works.  
  
“Yeah,” Shuuji agrees, amused at the sight. Chikara with a cell phone is a bit like a cat who’s found his own reflection in the mirror.  
  
“How does it work?”  
  
Shuuji flicks back to the main screen and opens up the contacts list, scrolling through dozens of names. “You put people’s numbers in here—the number is how one phone connects to another phone—and then when you want to call somebody, you just tap like this, and pick the right number.”  
  
Chikara pokes at the screen a few more times, watching the smooth scrolling motion in fascination and clicking in and out of entries, just as Shuuji had demonstrated. He’s actually getting the hang of it pretty quickly, surprisingly. That’s intuitive interface design for you.  
  
After a few moments, he curls his fingers away from the screen and sits back a bit, tucking his hands into his lap.  
  
“Can I…keep it?”  
  
Shuuji looks over at him, nonplussed. “You want to keep my cell phone? Why?”  
  
Chikara shrugs and scratches at the back of his neck, looking away a bit. “You said there were lots of them in your time. And it would be nice to have it…so I can talk to you after you’re gone.”  
  
Something squeezes tight deep in Shuuji’s chest. And right now, more than anything he wishes he could just hand it over and say yes.  
  
“I’m sorry,” he says instead. “I can’t.”  
  
Chikara shakes his head quickly, trying for a smile, shrugging it off. “It’s okay. It was just a—”  
  
“No, I mean—it’s not that I don’t want to. It’s just…these things don’t work that way. You need cell towers and signals and battery chargers and things. I could leave it here, but…you wouldn’t be able to talk to me with it.”  
  
“Oh,” Chikara says. He looks down at his hands again.  
  
Shuuji watches him for a long moment. He thinks about the cave and the villagers. Torches and pitchforks. Murasaki-sama and the headman and the demon. All the food and supplies they’ve given them, which are more than enough to last them until they find the demon. But when they find the demon, Shuuji will be gone. Chikara will still be here, alone again. It might last him a while, but the rice will eventually run out. What will he do then?  
  
Will they let him stay in the village? Will he even want to? Or will he keep moving, wander off somewhere else where nobody knows him. Where nobody wants him.  
  
He sets the cell phone down next to his knee and wraps his arms around Chikara’s shoulders, pulling him close. Chikara buries his face in Shuuji’s shoulder and pulls Shuuji even closer, arms around his ribcage.  
  
“I wish I could see your world,” Chikara mumbles into his neck, and Shuuji’s fingers clench a little in the back of his shirt.  
  
“I wish you could too,” Shuuji says. He rubs small circles over the back of Chikara’s shoulder blade and presses his cheek against his dark hair. “You could come back with me, if you want. I could show you around.”  
  
“You could show me cars.”  
  
Shuuji breathes a laugh. “I don’t own one myself, but yeah. They’d be around.”  
  
“And we could have cell phones. And a Geiger counter.”  
  
Shuuji laughs again and rocks him a little, kissing the side of his head. “Kind of a weird collection, but yeah, sure. Anything you want. Even a Geiger counter.”  
  
Shuuji feels Chikara’s arms squeeze him even tighter for a moment, feels a little shaky breath against his neck, and a warm, soft kiss. And he tries to imagine Chikara walking down a street full of cars with a cell phone in one hand and a Geiger counter in the other, staring at the world around him like it’s totally new. He tries to imagine his world through Chikara’s eyes.  
  
It looks brighter somehow.  
  
“I want to,” Chikara murmurs. “But I can’t. I promised the villagers I would take care of the demon, and I can’t do that if I go with you. And I can’t just leave them to fend for themselves.”  
  
Shuuji runs fingers through the back of Chikara’s hair and rests his chin against his shoulder. He sort of knew that would be the answer.  
  
“It sucks,” Shuuji mumbles.  
  
He feels Chikara nod against his shoulder again. “It really sucks.”  
  
*      *      *  
  
Two days later, they find the demon’s nest.  
  
It’s a cave, about three times the size of theirs. The opening seems like a bit of a tight squeeze for a creature that size, but between the rattling of the spine and the piles of bones they find littering the floor inside, there’s no mistaking it. After some quick reconnaissance, they beat a hasty retreat back to their own cave to plan their approach.  
  
“We have to block its escape route first,” Chikara explains. “The pulse is a defense mechanism—it’s not likely to use it unless we seriously startle it, or it feels totally trapped. Or both.”  
  
“But how can we trap it?” Shuuji says. “It’ll just disappear again like it did the last time.”  
  
Chikara shakes his head, pointing to the little diagram he’s drawn on the dusty cave floor with a stick. “That only works if it’s in an open space. If it’s enclosed, then it can’t disappear.”  
  
“That seems like a serious design flaw,” Shuuji comments.  
  
Chikara shrugs. “Can’t have everything, I guess. Otherwise the demons would have wiped us out centuries ago.”  
  
Hm. It’s a good point.  
  
“Anyway,” Chikara continues, “the way things happened when I saw it before, and the way you described it to me, it seems like the blast is going to be pretty localized. We just have to make sure you’re standing in front of it when it happens.”  
  
Yeah, Shuuji remembers the lighting bolt-like beam that hit him at the construction site. He also remembers what they saw the other day. Blasts of burning pink, also coming from the demon, and many large things catching on fire.  
  
“But it shoots other stuff too, right?” Shuuji says. “I mean, if I just stand there waiting for it to throw something at me, I’ve got about a fifty-fifty chance of getting roasted.”  
  
“Yeah,” Chikara says, deflating slightly and pulling at his lower lip thoughtfully as he stares down at the diagram. “I haven’t really figured that part out yet…”  
  
Shuuji leaves Chikara alone to think while he pulls dinner together for the both of them. He tries not to think too much of anything in particular himself. Thinking just makes him nervous.  
  
It’s the demon, partly, of course. The thing nearly killed both of them the last time they crossed paths with it, and Shuuji isn’t exactly a born warrior. A few lucky hits and a lot of adrenaline probably won’t be enough to survive what they’re trying to pull off here. If he looks at the situation objectively, he knows that there’s a very significant chance this could all go badly wrong.  
  
And if it goes right…  
  
Well. He doesn’t really want to think about that either.  
  
He fills the water jugs from the stream and sets the rice to boiling. Tends the fire and stokes it up a bit when it seems like it’s getting low. Prepares the fish Chikara caught on their way home and arranges them over the fire so that they’ll roast evenly.  
  
Over dinner they talk about everything and nothing in particular. Run over the plans for tomorrow again. Argue over the last piece of fish. Shuuji makes the mistake of referencing something to do with America, and ends up explaining about 150 years of global politics. Now Chikara wants to know what the Golden Gate Bridge looks like.  
  
(He’s confused when Shuuji tells him it’s actually painted red.  
  
“Like a shrine gate?” he asks.  
  
Shuuji frowns. “Actually…yeah, sort of like a shrine gate. Though I don’t think that’s what they were going for when they designed it…”)  
  
Afterwards, they both clean up. Shuuji puts away the cooking supplies, and Chikara lays out the bedding and banks down the fire. When all is dark and quiet, they curl up close again underneath the covers, Shuuji’s fingers in Chikara’s hair and Chikara playing with his beltloops.  
  
“Chikara?”  
  
“Hm.”  
  
Shuuji brushes his thumb over Chikara’s smooth cheekbone, just watching him. He knows he needs to sleep—they both do. They’ve got a lot of work to do tomorrow, and they’ll have to get an early start on it if they want to have a chance of making this work. Still, part of him wishes he could stay awake the whole night, just lying here watching him.  
  
Or…just stay.  
  
“Thank you,” he murmurs. It starts to catch up with him then, but he swallows it back. No sense losing himself now. “For everything. I couldn’t have—I don’t know what I would have done here without you. You saved my life.”  
  
Chikara purses his lips a little and averts his gaze. Shuuji feels his fingers clench into a fist against the side of his hip. “You saved mine too.”  
  
And when he looks up again, Shuuji knows he’s not talking about the demon.  
  
He moves in close and kisses Chikara, makes it soft and deep. Takes his time. As much time as they have left and then more than that. Trying to make the time just slow down and stop, because it’s still not enough.  
  
Chikara’s hand untangles itself from his beltloop and flattens against the small of his back, pulling Shuuji flush against him, and Shuuji tries to keep it in his mind how they fit so he can take it with him. Shuuji’s hand finds its way inside Chikara’s shirts, pulling them down over his shoulder until he can kiss his way along. And somehow he’s not afraid anymore, as long as he’s here. While Chikara is close, Shuuji’s not afraid of anything. Not of being alone or finding someone new. Not of fire-breathing demons or the daily grind. Not even of losing him.  
  
It’s a late night after all, and the warmth in the cave comes more from the two of them than the smoldering fire in the pit. They fall asleep wrapped up in each other, skin against skin, Shuuji’s jeans tangled up with Chikara’s kobakama in a pile by their feet. And Shuuji is happy.  
  
*      *      *  
  
He wakes before Chikara again the next morning. For a little while he just lies there, feeling Chikara breathe against his back. Feeling Chikara’s hand against his stomach. Memorizing everything carefully, down to the smallest detail of cold toes and the occasional snore against the back of Shuuji’s neck.  
  
When he finally can’t hold it any longer, he slips carefully out of Chikara’s arms and pulls on his jeans, walking outside the cave to relieve himself. He heads on down to the stream after that to wash up a bit and get water for breakfast. Once he has the rice on the fire, he digs a piece of paper and an ink brush set out of the supplies given to them by the villagers. He’s about to carry them outside, when he glances down at the brush set, recalls his horrible failures at calligraphy in grade school, and sticks it back in the pile. He grabs his jacket off the floor instead, digging a pen out of the pocket as he walks back outside.  
  
A few feet away, out of sight of the cave’s entrance, he crouches down on a fallen log to write. It’s a bit messy still, since he doesn’t have a flat surface to work with, but it’s alright. It’s a short enough message. Somehow it seems like it should be longer, but every time he tries to write something more, he can’t think of anything that hasn’t been said.  
  
Finally he gives up, putting the cap back on the pen. He stares at the message for a few moments, hoping his handwriting isn’t too messy, and that the kanji haven’t changed too significantly in the past few hundred years. He doesn’t think they have. Some things never change.  
  
Then he digs around in his jacket pocket again and pulls out his cell phone. The battery is fully dead by now, but it doesn’t really matter. He wraps the note around it carefully, tucking the ends of the overlarge paper together as neatly as he can, like a present.  
  
The rice is simmering nicely when he returns to the cave, but he spares it only a glance, crossing to Chikara’s things instead. He has more of them now, several shirts nearly spilling out of their bundle. At least he’ll be warm enough when winter rolls around. Shuuji unties the corners and digs through the pile, finding that old, threadbare one down at the very bottom. He tucks the package inside it carefully and puts the others back on top, tying everything up together again just the way he found it.  
  
By the time Chikara awakes, Shuuji is dishing out the rice.  
  
“Come on, lazybones,” he chides as Chikara blinks and frowns at his surroundings. “Eat up.”  
  
*      *      *  
  
They set out as soon as they’ve finished breakfast. Chikara leads the way with the compass, though they both know where they’re headed by now—still, considering what they’re about to do, it’s important that they don’t have any unexpected company before they’ve finished the preparations. Shuuji carries a large bundle strapped across his back, filled with the necessary tools.  
  
It takes them the better part of the day to finish laying their trap. They work together on most of it, and it doesn’t leave time for much more than the necessary conversation. They both keep a close eye on the compass propped up just outside the cave’s entrance for any further developments. It hasn’t stopped quivering since they came within sight of the place.  
  
The sun has just fallen below the horizon by the time they’re finally finished. They clear up all their tools as quickly as possible and bundle them away underneath a pile of bones inside the cave, even brush their footprints out of the dust and light a fire just inside to burn pungent leaves and at least confuse the traces of their scent. They don’t want anything discouraging the youkai from returning to its lair tonight. When there’s nothing more they can do, they each take up position on opposite sides of the cave mouth, pressed up against the wall and out of sight of the outside.  
  
And then they wait.  
  
Shuuji has the compass balanced on his knees where he sits to the left of the door. It’s getting quite dark now, but he can still see the spine quivering steadily in front of his face. It’s slightly hypnotic.  
  
And then it stops.  
  
And speeds up.  
  
He grips the frame tighter, suppressing a gasp—the spine is wriggling so hard it’s almost like a live thing trying to jump right out of his lap. He can’t say anything, but he holds the thing up to get Chikara’s attention, peers over and meets his eyes in the dark. Chikara gives one firm nod and readjusts his stance, katana in hand.  
  
For a long while, there’s only more silence.  
  
And then he hears it—a rustling in the brush, something moving closer. It’s unhurried, but heavy…and very, very large. A little snuffling and a grunt, a few branches yanked carelessly from the trunks of trees. A long wet tongue sliding over razor sharp fangs, and then another little snuffle. It gets closer, the rumble of breath and footfalls making tiny vibrations in the floor and the walls—and then, at last, the twilight is partially blocked out by a giant head ducking through the cave entrance, followed by an even more giant body.  
  
They wait until it’s all the way in, taloned feet crunching over piles of bones, tail flicking a bit this way and that as it sniffs around to figure out what unfamiliar creatures have been in its territory while it was away. Shuuji meets Chikara’s eyes across the gap again. Chikara watches until the creature is as far in as it’s likely to go—and then he nods.  
  
Shuuji rams a shoulder against the edge of the makeshift door they’ve built, shoving it as hard as he can across the entrance. The creature snarls and turns, but Chikara is already on the attack, the end of his weighted rope wrapping tightly around its wings again until it’s thrashing back the other direction, trying to figure out what else is on him.  
  
“Anchor it!” Chikara yells, throwing Shuuji the other end of the rope. It’s nearly pitch dark in here now, only a little bit of light seeping through the cracks in the wooden door, and Shuuji actually trips over the metal stake he’s supposed to tie the rope too. It’s a lucky thing too, because the moment he drops to the ground, a beam of bright pink shoots over his head and sets the net of vines covering the cave wall behind him on fire.  
  
At least it solves the sight problem.  
  
“Are you okay?” Chikara yells from across the room, busy slashing at the creature’s attacking tail.  
  
“I’m fine,” Shuuji says, quickly wrapping the rope around the stake as tightly as he can and tying it off. Then he looks up again.  
  
“Look out!”  
  
Chikara sees the claw coming at him from the other side and rolls backward, out of range. When he gets up again, he’s pulled another rope from inside his shirt, and he sends it swinging at the hind legs. It catches one but misses the other. Shuuji tries to run across to tie the second rope to one of the anchors at the opposite end of the room, but he gets intercepted by giant, snapping jaws and has to stumble backwards to keep from being bitten in half.  
  
“I’ve got it,” Chikara tells him. “Distract it for a minute, will you?”  
  
Shuuji throws his sword up just in time to get knocked off his feet again by a giant claw. “No problem,” he croaks. His cheek stings, just below his left eye, and he lifts his fingers to it, feeling for the wound. It’s just a small gash, only leaves a little bit of blood on his fingertips. There’s another horrifying screech, and he has to roll quickly to the side to avoid being impaled by the return strike.  
  
“There!”  
  
“What?” Shuuji scrambles to his feet and stumbles back to the wall, just out of the creature’s reach. Except by the tail, he realizes in the nick of time, and ducks under it as it gouges an eight-foot gash in the rock over his head.  
  
“That light!” Chikara yells back, breaking off to beat back a flailing claw with a couple of efficient strikes. Shuuji looks where he briefly pointed, and sees a familiar pink-white glow emanating from beneath the heart of the beast. It’s dim yet, but it’s definitely growing steadily. “That’s it! It’s coming!”  
  
And he can hear the ringing too, growing louder. For a moment he thought it was just in his head, but it’s the light. It’s the light.  
  
“What—now? Already?” Shuuji says, swallowing the sudden burst of fear. He flattens against the wall again as the creature tries to reach him with a claw. “Are you sure?”  
  
“I’m sure!” Chikara calls back. “Stay in front of it. The next one will take you home.”  
  
Shuuji swallows again, staring from the creature’s hideous face back to Chikara, still fighting off its struggling limbs.  
  
“Will you be okay?”  
  
“I’ll be fine!” Chikara says, not taking his eyes off the claw that’s just tried to rip his arm off. “Just go. Don’t worry about me.”  
  
Shuuji looks up at the beast again, which has locked eyes on him where he’s hiding pressed against the rock. The thing is rearing back slowly, wicked teeth bared and dripping with venom, black, reptilian eyes blinking like a promise, like a threat. The glow is getting stronger, and Shuuji’s heart feels like it’s about to beat out of his chest. Everything in him is telling him to get away now. To just stay.  
  
“You’re absolutely sure, right?” he shouts back, over another deafening roar.  
  
“I promise you,” Chikara yells. “I won’t let it hurt you. And if it does—” he breaks off with a grunt, slashing three talons off the creature’s free hind claw, “—you can haunt my ass for all eternity.”  
  
Shuuji opens his mouth to respond, but the youkai beats him to it. All of a sudden a beam of light bursts forth, blanking out those eyes, those teeth, those claws. The cave, the door, the ground under his feet. Shuuji turns his head at the last moment trying to get one last glimpse of Chikara. But everything is already gone.  
  
*      *      *  
  
It’s raining when he wakes.  
  
It’s dark at first, so dark he can’t even tell if his eyes are open or closed once he thinks he’s opened them. He blinks the water away—not a downpour. Just tiny little droplets that leave him feeling damp and cold and heavier than he ought to be.  
  
Then suddenly a really bright light shines directly in his face and he gives a shout, flinching and rolling to his side.  
  
“Oh no—sorry, I didn’t mean—I’m really sorry. Are you okay?”  
  
“I…I think so,” Shuuji says, trying to calm his racing heartbeat and blink the spots out of his eyes. His ribs still feel a bit achy from a week ago, and the blows he took during the most recent fight didn’t help any. He’s having a little trouble getting his breath under him.  
  
The fight. Chikara.  
  
Shuuji sits up. His head feels a bit woozy, damp like the rest of him. He’s sitting in the middle of the construction site in the glow of the security guard’s flashlight. There’s a discarded hardhat lying next to him, there are papers scattered on the ground all around him, spotted with raindrops, and there’s a wakizashi in his hand. There’s no sign of the attacking light.  
  
“Where on earth did that come from?” the guard says, sweeping the flashlight over the short blade.  
  
Shuuji looks down at the blade and turns it over in his hands. He doesn’t know what to say. He didn’t even mean to take it with him, should have thought to drop it right before he left. Chikara might have needed it.  
  
Too late now.  
  
“It’s a long story.”  
  
*      *      *  
  
The cab was where he’d left it too, though by the time he’d gotten back he’d racked up nearly half an hour of waiting time. He caught hell from his bosses in the morning too, but not for disappearing to the eighteenth century for two weeks—just for turning in a mess of rain-splattered papers.  
  
He stays late to try to make up for his error, and it’s after dark by the time he makes his way home. There are garbage bags full of tunafish cans slumped over at the top of the stairwell again, and he sorts them into the trash chutes without complaint. He’s too tired to muster any real annoyance.  
  
Once inside he changes out of his suit and into his sweats and a t-shirt. He wanders into the bathroom and peels the bandaid off his face to inspect the little gash just below his left eye. It seems to be heeling well enough, he finds, though it still bleeds a little when he pokes at it too much. He tries not to do that.  
  
He finds the tube of antiseptic in the bathroom cupboard and dabs a little over the wound, then covers it with a fresh bandaid.  
  
The floorboards creak underfoot as he walks back out to the kitchen and fills a cup of ramen with water. While it’s in the microwave, he cracks open a beer and takes a sip, leaning back against the counter while he waits for the little numbers to finish counting down. Then he sits down in the middle of his couch with his meal balanced on his knees and stares down at the sword lying in the middle of his coffee table.  
  
It’s quiet here.  
  
He cleaned the blade as soon as he got home yesterday. He’s not really sure what to do with it—these things are illegal to keep without a license, after all, but he can’t really even think about giving it away. He’ll have to get a sheath or something for it at least—you can’t just leave an open blade lying around on your coffee table. Even leaving a sheathed blade on your coffee table is sort of weird. But for now, that’s where it is.  
  
There are very good reasons he’s here and not there right now. He knows that. Tries to remind himself periodically throughout the day, thinks about his family, his friends. Maybe he doesn’t see them as often as he’d like anymore, but there’s a big difference between not seeing someone often and never seeing them again. And how would they feel if he just disappeared one day and never came back, without a word?  
  
Maybe a little like this.  
  
But even if it weren’t for that, he couldn’t have stayed there. He wasn’t cut out to live like that, not forever. He’d never have survived on his own. Not that he’d have been on his own, if he’d stayed—but you never know. Things happen. Nobody can predict the future.  
  
He turns the TV on for company, but keeps it low, because he’s not really interested. Just using it to drown out the thinking, mostly. After he finishes his cup ramen, he gets out his computer and starts surfing the web, looking for any information he can find on the life of Oishi Chikara. Even though he’s a little afraid of what he might find, it would be better to know.  
  
Unfortunately, there isn’t much. Some rumors, maybe, and fictional speculation—but there doesn’t seem to be any historical record of him at all anywhere after he was pardoned for the crimes of the ronin. He seems to have wandered off the face of the earth. Presumably census takers and historians didn’t spend much time checking random caves in the woods in those days, and since he stopped telling people his name…  
  
Shuuji hopes he lived a long and happy life. Believes it. Has to believe it.  
  
*      *      *  
  
It’s a cool, crisp, sunny day, and Shuuji is sitting near a window in a second floor Starbucks sipping his coffee and trying to catch up on some reading. Nothing exciting, unfortunately. A trade magazine, necessary for work. Whenever his eyes glaze over and drift toward the busy street below, he takes another sip of his coffee and shifts in his chair again, trying to spark some interest in the relative virtues of various girder measurements.  
  
There’s some shuffling off to his side as a group of people crowd in and settle at a table nearby, and he leans away to give them space to maneuver. When all the shuffling is done, he shifts back again, only then realizing that there’s someone still standing near him, just a little too close. He wishes the person would step away a few inches and give him some space—it’s not a freaking train, after all. If he just wants to stand, he can do that outside. And Shuuji was finally getting into a groove with the girders.  
  
Instead, the guy clears his throat, and Shuuji has to suppress an irritated sigh.  
  
“Excuse me—sorry, but it’s sort of crowded. Is this seat taken?”  
  
Shuuji shakes his head distractedly, sending every “don’t bother me, I’m busy” signal he can muster. “Go ahead,” he mutters, gesturing toward the chair without looking up from his magazine.  
  
He hears the chair legs scrape against the tile floor, and at the edge of his vision he sees a man in a dark hoodie sit down opposite him, sipping at his own coffee and looking out the window.  
  
They’re quiet like that for a while. Shuuji carries on with his reading. The guy in the hoodie just drinks his coffee and stares out at the city.  
  
Then there’s another little clearing of the throat, and Shuuji tamps down another sigh.  
  
“Sorry, I don’t mean to bother you,” the guy says. “But…do I know you?”  
  
Shuuji gives a cursory glance up at the guy’s face, his dark, slightly curly bangs covering his forehead, a pair of sunglasses hanging from the front of his white v-necked t-shirt. He shakes his head and returns to his reading. “Sorry, you must have me mixed up with someone else.”  
  
“Oh.” He sounds slightly disappointed. “Sorry, I thought…nevermind. You look like someone who lives in my building, I guess.”  
  
Oh—wait a sec, that’s right. The hoodie, the sunglasses, the stupid baggy jeans—ugh. Trash chute guy. Damn it, now he’s going to have to be polite and make conver—  
  
When he looks up the second time, everything stops.  
  
The clothes are different. The hair is different too, shorter and messier, sort of rumpled like his outfit. And it can’t be, because that’s totally crazy, but his face—his face and his eyes and his  _voice_ —and now that Shuuji really looks at him, it’s there too. Something behind his eyes, looking back at him. Waiting for him to notice.  
  
“Are you…who I think you are?” Shuuji says, a little croakily. He’s trying not to make a scene or give himself away, because it can’t be. It just can’t. That’s crazy.  
  
A little smile pulls at the other man’s lips, and he looks down at the table between them. He rummages in the pocket of his hoodie for a moment and pulls something out, setting it down carefully in front of Shuuji.  
  
He juts his chin toward it as he hides his hands in the hoodie pocket again. “You left this.”  
  
His old cell phone.  
  
He picks it up gingerly and turns it over in his hands. The battery still doesn’t work when he tries to turn it on, but that might not just be for lack of a charger anymore. The whole thing looks sort of banged up—there are a few small dents in the back of the case, and the screen has a big crack across the top. But it’s definitely his.  
  
Shuuji stares at him again. Tries to swallow, but his mouth has gone all dry.  
  
“Chikara?”  
  
Chikara just stares back. And then there’s that smile again, a little breath of relief. A little nod.  
  
“How? How did you— _how_?”  
  
“Murasaki-sama,” he says, tugging at his sweatshirt front a little self-consciously. But that glow in his eyes as he says it tells Shuuji he’s been waiting for this for ages. “We were right about her—the demon blood thing. Actually,” he looks a little sheepish now, “we probably should have gone straight to her in the first place, as it turns out. It took her a while, but she was able to use that phone to trace you back to where you had come from and send me after you. Not, like, as a phone,” he clarifies when Shuuji gives him a confused look. “Just as an object. An artifact that had made the jump with you. If you had been there it would have been easier, because you could have told us exactly when we were aiming for. As it was, we sort of had to…guess. A little bit.”  
  
Shuuji stares down at the phone. Guess.  
  
They had to  _guess_?  
  
“How long have you been here?”  
  
There’s a sheepish tilt of his mouth. “About a year.”  
  
“A year?” he repeats, heart clenching. That’s a lot of canned tunafish. “Why didn’t you contact me?”  
  
“I did,” Chikara says. “I came looking for you as soon as I got here, but you didn’t recognize me, so I figured I must be too early. Or maybe you just…didn’t remember.”  
  
Shuuji looks down at the phone again, running a fingertip over the crack. He hates the thought that Chikara was here all along, having followed him across time only to end up alone again in an even stranger place than before. He knows what that’s like—though at least Shuuji had the benefit of having seen a few movies and read a few history books before his little adventure. Shuuji’s ill-informed ramblings about cars and nuclear power plants could hardly have constituted a samurai’s guide to modern living.  
  
“How did you know I would remember you now?”  
  
Chikara grins again. Reaches out a hand and brushes a knuckle over the bandaid on Shuuji’s cheek. “Just a hunch,” he says. “I know you’re crap with a bow, but I didn’t think you were quite that accident prone.”  
  
Shuuji has to consciously resist the impulse to grab Chikara’s hand and press his palm closer to his face. They’re in public, after all. And they’re already getting weird looks from a few people for all the demon-blood talk.  
  
“Why?” he asks. “Why did you go to all that trouble?”  
  
Chikara reaches into his pocket again and pulls out a rumpled piece of old-fashioned paper, creased and worn at the edges. Shuuji recognizes the handwriting immediately.  
  
 _I love you._  
  
 _I’ll never forget you._  
  
 _In the future, I hope you’ll find happiness._  
  
 _—Shuuji_  
  
Shuuji squirms with embarrassment and folds the paper away quickly, hoping no one saw. There was a reason he’d only meant for Chikara to find it after he was gone. He’s not good at things like this, especially when they’re true.  
  
“Because the future is where you are,” Chikara says.  
  
*      *      *  
  
“It wasn’t easy,” Chikara murmurs with a little put-upon sigh. They’re curled up together in Shuuji’s bed, their shirts on the floor and pants a bit undone. Chikara’s got his fingers hooked in Shuuji’s beltloop, and Shuuji is still marveling over the shorter hair, running his hands through it. “I got arrested twice in the first week—once for the sword, the other time for stealing.”  
  
“Stealing?”  
  
“I wasn’t trying to—I gave them money, but…I guess it was sort of out of date. It got worked out though—actually, I think some of it’s in a museum somewhere now. Some guy gave me a check for it that paid my first three months’ rent. Oh! You should have seen me when I accidentally stepped on the remote control once in my first flat. Damn near threw the TV out the window.”  
  
Shuuji laughs. “And I’ve noticed you still haven’t learned how to use a can opener.”  
  
Chikara’s eyes go all wide, like he’s just suggested the most revolutionary thing imaginable. Even better than cars and Geiger counters. “They make _openers_  for  _cans_? Where? How do they work? Where do you get them?”  
  
Shuuji laughs again and pats him on the cheek, rolling in to give him a little kiss on the lips. “I’ll buy you one tomorrow,” he promises.  
  
“My hero,” Chikara grins.  
  
Shuuji pinches him in the side for that one, and they roll and squirm a bit as Chikara tries to get his revenge. He’s already told Shuuji he’s a very big fan of these modern mattresses. Much bouncier than the ones he’s used to back home (though he also assured Shuuji he hasn’t really had cause to put one to the test until today). He’s also addicted to coffee and tuna-mayo onigiri (which explained all the mangled tunafish cans). He even has a cell phone, though he doesn’t have any numbers in it yet except the one for his boss at the shipyards, who calls him in for extra shifts periodically.  
  
“Hey,” Shuuji says, when finally they settle again, tangled a little closer than before.  
  
“Hm,” Chikara murmurs as Shuuji leans down and kisses him softly, smoothing the hair back from his brow.  
  
“I was just thinking, you know…I actually already have a can opener.”  
  
Chikara nods back, not taking his eyes off Shuuji’s. “Do you? Lucky.”  
  
“Yeah. And it seems sort of silly to buy a whole new one. I mean, one is really all you need most of the time. And it would be no problem to share, seeing as I don’t eat nearly as much canned fish as you do.”  
  
Chikara gives this another little thoughtful nod. “That seems very reasonable. It would be sort of inconvenient to have to run down the hall every time I want to make lunch though.” There’s an innocent blink. “Don’t you think?”  
  
Shuuji grins and breathes a laugh, lower lip sliding between his teeth. “Yeah. Very inconvenient. I guess…maybe you’ll just have to move in here then. You know—so we can share the can opener.”  
  
Chikara purses his lips in mock seriousness and nods again. “Yeah. That seems like the only solution. But that would probably mean we’d have to share a couch too. And a television. And a mattress.”  
  
“Don’t forget the Geiger counter.”  
  
“No we’re all set for that,” Chikara says, shaking his head. “I’ve already got a Geiger counter.”  
  
Shuuji chuckles. “Well you see? That’s perfect then. I’ve never gotten around to buying one.”  
  
“Really? Hm. We might need another though. I don’t know if I’d really want to share mine…”  
  
“Even if I promise to teach you how to properly sort your garbage into the trash chutes?” Shuuji offers.  
  
Chikara gives him a considering look. Then nods. “Okay. Okay, I guess we can make that work.”  
  
“Oh good, I was starting to worry.”  
  
“But you have to give me your cell phone number,” Chikara adds sternly.  
  
“Why?” Shuuji laughs. “So you can check up on me and make sure I’m not doing nefarious things with your Geiger counter?”  
  
“No,” Chikara says. And he draws a fingertip along Shuuji’s forehead, gently stroking aside a lock of bangs.  
  
“So I can still talk to you when you’re far away.”  
  
Shuuji smiles wide at that and pulls the covers over both of their heads. By the time he’s done with him, he and Chikara are tangled together so tight it seems like they’ll never be far apart again.  
  
He gives Chikara his cell phone number anyway though. Just in case.


End file.
